


The Warbler is a Tramp

by sarkyblueeyes



Series: The Warbler is a Tramp [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Assistant kurt, Famous Blaine, M/M, Romance, Warbler!Blaine, klaine AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 136,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2316194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarkyblueeyes/pseuds/sarkyblueeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Down on his luck after graduating NYADA, Kurt Hummel jumps at the opportunity to become personal assistant to the hottest boy band in the world. The Warblers are British, preppy, talented, and handsome. But their openly gay and notoriously promiscuous front man, Blaine Anderson, has a reputation that has left their manager, Wes Montgomery, no choice but to take steps to ensure they don’t lose another employee to his libido. Is a legal contract enough to keep Blaine a professional distance from Kurt, or will he charm his way into Kurt’s bed and by extension, his heart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Interview

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU Klaine story I have written to cure myself of writers block and cheer myself up. If I manage to make anyone else smile, that's an added bonus. Many of the Glee characters we know and love are British in this story. I've followed canon for many of the characters to a point. The character nationalities are listed below to help you differentiate.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. I am merely borrowing the characters from this universe that I know and love. FOX and Ryan Murphy are the real owners. 
> 
> Nationalities  
> American:  
> Kurt Hummel – Lima, Ohio  
> Quinn Fabray – Ohio  
> Mercedes Jones – Michigan  
> Noah Puckerman – Ohio  
> Sugar Motta – New York  
> Sam Evans – Texas  
> Rachel Berry – Lima, Ohio  
> Santana Lopez – Lima, Ohio  
> Kitty Wilde – California  
> Chandler Keihl – New York
> 
> British:  
> Blaine Anderson (English - Surrey)  
> Jeff Sterling (English – East London but claims to be from North London)  
> David Thompson (English - Hertfordshire)  
> Trent Nixon (Welsh – Carmarthen)  
> Nick Duvall (Northern Irish - Belfast)  
> Wesley Montgomery (English – Yorkshire)  
> Sebastian Smythe (English)  
> Jeremiah Flynn (English)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> [](http://imgur.com/Gn7a16x)   
> 

  _ **CelebSpy**_

_**Blaine's night of passion... again**_

[ ](http://imgur.com/wpUCmCU)

_Another day goes by and more scandals are afoot in Celebville. At this point though, we at CelebSpy would hardly call the latest tidbit on Blaine Anderson a scandal. Sources close to the lead singer of British boy band, The Warblers, have revealed the singer has lured yet another celebrity gentleman to his bachelor pad._

_Just last week Mr. Anderson's people released a statement claiming the bad boy serial dater was trying to settle down. Their efforts were in vain though. Three days later Anderson made his point of view extremely clear to a group of paparazzi:_

" _Who the f***k settles down at nineteen?"_

_Rumor has it he was spotted canoodling at the after party of the AMAs with none other than Broadway actor Chandler Keihl, w_ _ho rose to fame in the revival of Bugsy Malone three years ago._

" _They looked pretty smitten," our source revealed. "Or at least, Chandler did. He was trying to play hard-to-get, but you know what Blaine's like. All you have to do is look into that dreamy gaze and you're a goner."_

_The two left the party and reportedly went back to Blaine's swanky New York hotel suite, a development which has left his band m_ _ates furious._  

" _It's bad press for all of them. Their fan base is very young, and parents are starting to see him as a bad role model. It's not even about his sexuality. It's the fact he seems to_ _be throwing himself around. Impressionable young fans will follow his lead," Phil Turnby, celebrity psychologist and author of Celebrity Rehab 101, told the New York Times last week._

_Bad role model or not, he doesn't look to be calming down anytime soon, and if the glum face on Chandler is anything to go by, he's already received the boot. Who will Blaine's next squeeze be? We'll keep you posted._

* * *

Kurt rolled his eyes and flicked through to another page on his phone's web browser. He should have probably spent his journey to Canary Records going over the key points he wanted to raise during his interview. His dad always used to tear him away from his books the night before a test in high school though, and it's difficult to break habit.

_"It won't do to prepare and prepare only to overcook the turkey, kiddo,"_ he used to say, thrusting a copy of Vogue at Kurt and parking him on the couch.

Kurt couldn't help thinking he had a point there; if he didn't know what he wanted to say now, he never would. And if truth be told the more he's read up on the band, the less appealing he finds the position he's interviewing for.

"Mr. Hummel?"

Kurt quickly hid his phone away in his bag and looked up at the beautiful blonde woman in front of him. Her sleek hair was pulled back in a classic ponytail showing off her pale and clear complexion, small, straight nose and high cheekbones. Kurt looked her up and down from her black suit jacket (Dior if he wasn't mistaken), to the sharp points of her Jimmy Choo's.

"When you're done with the inventory, you can follow me," she said sharply.

Kurt flinched, flushing to his ears _. Great start, Kurt_. He clambered to his feet and hurried after the stern woman down the corridor.

"My name is Ms. Quinn Fabray. You can call me Ms. Fabray or Devil Incarnate if you prefer," she said. At his raised eyebrow she smirked. "The Warbler's call me that more often than anything. You'll be interviewing with a Mr. Wesley Montgomery. You have exactly fifteen minutes to wow him, or get off the premises."

They'd reached a door at the end of the corridor by that point. "Good luck." She turned the doorknob and jerked her head inside. Kurt tried to ignore the condescension behind her smirk, straightened his back, lifted his chin and strode into the room.

Wesley Montgomery had already stood from his seat and walked around his desk to greet him.

"Mr. Hummel I presume?" he said. Kurt was intrigued by his accent. He knew of course that the UK had many accents (or at least he did since becoming addicted to Downton Abbey), but he still expected every English person he met to sound more like the Crawley family than the downstairs staff.

Kurt shook his hand firmly (" _A firm handshake is as good as any reference or speech you can give,"_ his dad would say) and smiled in a way he hoped was charming, or at the very least masked his nerves. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Montgomery."

"Please, call me Wes, if it's okay for me to address you as Kurt?"

Kurt's eyebrows rose in surprise. In all the interviews he'd been to since graduating from college, none had ever progressed to first name basis. "I'm fine with that... Wes."

"Excellent," Wes said. "Now, your interview last week was with Thad Stevens, right?" At Kurt's nod of confirmation, he settled one hand over the other on his desk. "I won't beat around the bush here, Kurt. The position I'm trying to fill has been taken by many people in the last three years and, well, by this point I'm far beyond caring too much about formalities when it comes to hiring an assistant."

Kurt nodded, lowering into the seat opposite Wes, although truthfully he didn't quite understand where this was going.

Wes sighed long-sufferingly and dragged his hand through his hair, rested his nails against the desk. "We've had plenty of people interview, a fair few get the job and every single one of them quit on the spot for one reason or another. I'm not trying to put you off the position, it's just we've reached a point where we can't afford to send anyone in half blindfolded."

Kurt gaped at him. What the hell did this band put people through? He had half a mind to say, 'Thank you very much and goodbye,' right then and there. His curiosity was piqued though and he found himself wishing Wes would elaborate.

"The lads are nice guys," Wes said. "We were in school together. I've been managing them ever since they performed on Britain's Got Talent my last year at Dalton Academy."

Kurt nodded. He'd read up on the Warblers' history the day he got the call for the interview.

"They're just... a handful. As an assistant you would be required to follow wherever they go. They do spend time over here in the States, but their full time homes are still in the UK. You would be spending a lot of your time hopping between London, New York and LA, unless of course they are going elsewhere for press and tours. You'd be waking them up in the mornings, keeping tabs on them, running errands, fetching coffee, and taking calls on their behalves, bringing visitors to meet them, making sure they know where they are supposed to be; basically babysitting them so everyone else can get their jobs done. It is hard work, made even harder by the fact the lot of them like to be a nuisance. As their assistant I must warn you they will not make your job easy, should you prove yourself to be the ideal candidate."

Kurt swallowed thickly and nodded. He'd read about the travelling in the job description. In fact, it was the part that terrified and thrilled him the most. He'd never left the US, but he  _really_  wanted to, even if he never got to see much of the world around him, too intent on keeping up with his job's duties, just the knowledge he was in a different place would be enough for him. Alas, that didn't make the prospect any less terrifying.

"I understand, Wes," said Kurt. "I know I would be literally jumping in the deep end here, but I've thought it over and I'd like to give it a shot."

Wes surveyed him over his spectacles, an unreadable expression on his face. It made Kurt feel as though he was being cross-examined by an attorney. Wes lifted his spectacles from his face and placed them on the table, rubbing his eyes for a moment.

"I don't doubt that," he began. "Your resume, although smaller than many of the other candidates we've had, is impressive in detail. One of the main reasons we brought you back for a second interview today is because your personality shone through, both in person and on the page. A fashion internship at Vogue, you had a small part as a flying monkey in Wicked, you can fix a car in your sleep," he listed off from the papers in front of him. "I get the impression you would get along with all the guys."

Kurt smiled. He was particularly proud of the five months he spent working at the Gershwin Theatre.

"But," Wes broke off and sighed. "Forgive me for being unorthodox here, but I am going to ask you a question that... ordinarily it wouldn't come up in an interview for legal reasons. You are well within your rights to refuse to answer. But if you do choose to, I assure you, it will not factor into my decision whether or not to offer you the job."

He looked Kurt in the eye steadily. Kurt could only nod in intrigue and gesture for him to continue.

Wes took a deep breath. "The personal blog you supplied in your resume, states that you are gay?"

Kurt blanched visibly. Yes, this was an odd thing to ask in an interview. What on Earth did his sexual orientation have to do with anything? Unsure of where this line of questioning was headed, Kurt dipped his head after a long pause and said, "Yes. I'm very open about that."

Wes nodded and rubbed his eyes again. "Blaine, he uh ... are you aware of tabloid gossip?"

"Are you trying to hire someone  _for_  Blaine?" Kurt blurted out before he could stop himself. "Because if you were hoping for a candidate willing to sleep with him, I'm definitely not the man. I'm not for sale."

"No, no, no Kurt. No!" Wes raised both arms, palms out in a soothing gesture, indicating for Kurt to sit down again. Kurt, who hadn't realized he was now standing, perched gingerly on his seat again, ready to spring up at a moment's notice.

"No," Wes began again. "I'm sorry, that was a bad way to start the topic, clearly. I should have opened with this: We want to hire you, Kurt. The reason I ask, is because the lead singer of the band, Blaine... his behavior lately has left us no choice but to warn potential new assistants about the situation they could be getting into. Blaine also prefers the company of men, and his professionalism with members of the team... has been questionable lately."

Kurt blinked his eyes away from Wes' probing gaze sheepishly, and blushed to the roots of his impeccable hairline. "Oh... sorry."

"Don't be," Wes smiled gently. "I'm sorry for my poor wording. If anything your outburst is what I was looking for. Blaine is... difficult," Wes admitted. "He wasn't always. He just- well, never mind how that changed. The point is, we have had gay men take on this job many times over, and Blaine has had unacceptable relations with every single one of them, to put it bluntly. Then when he gets bored (which he always does), the employee quits and leaves us soon after. We're hoping to hire someone who takes pride in their work and he wouldn't be able to seduce, but we can't for obvious discriminatory reasons, only consider _straight_ males. This is me giving you the forewarning, so when I formerly offer you the job, if you wanted to turn us down, you could do so having been fully informed."

"That won't be a problem, Wes," Kurt said decisively.

Kurt was a lot of things, but he certainly didn't sleep around. He liked romance and committed relationships. The idea of him going along with whatever the lead singer of The Warblers wanted was ludicrous to his mind. Not only would it be unprofessional, the boy's reputation alone was enough to put Kurt off. Why risk sleeping with someone who sees men as a means to an end and could have picked up any number of STDs along the way?

"You're sure?" Wes raised his eyebrows hopefully.

"Yes."

"Well, in that case when can you start?"


	2. The First Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr account is [sarkyblueeyes](http://sarkyblueeyes.tumblr.com/) if you want to talk to me over there.

"You can't be serious!"

Kurt rolled his eyes. Rachel had been saying the same thing over and over for the last three hours, and it was seriously starting to get on his nerves.

"I am perfectly serious, Rach," he said, and flopped down on the sofa next to Santana to rest his head against her shoulder. If you had told Kurt back in high school, that he would one day willingly look to Santana Lopez for support in his own home, he would have laughed and claimed that he'd sooner put his McQueen collection through a shredder. A lot changes in three years though, and the Latina was a helpful ally against the force of nature that was Rachel Berry.

"But, you can't leave me here with just her!" Rachel accused, gesturing to their Bushwick loft of four years. "What about the rent?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "What's wrong, Berry, scared Lady Hummel won't be able to protect you anymore?"

"I'll kill her!"

"It's cute you think you'd get the chance," Santana shot back. "I have razor blades in my hair, remember?"

"Enough!" Kurt grumbled, and lifted his head to glare at his best friend. "I won't always be gone. I'll still pay my share of the rent. The Warblers have been spending a lot of time here in New York ever since they cracked the American market, so there's a good chance I'll be coming home a lot. I've already had Dad lecturing me about safety; can you please just smile and be happy for me for a change?"

Rachel's frown softened immediately, and she bounced onto the sofa on his other side. "I  _am_  happy for you. I'm sorry. I'm just going to miss having you around all the time." She sighed. "And I'm worried about you. That Blaine guy sounds like trouble, and while I know you don't think so, you  _are_  a catch. He'd have to be blind not to notice you. What if he hurts you?"

Kurt snorted at the ceiling. "It won't come to that. I mean, yes, the Warbler is a bit of a tramp, but when have I ever been gullible to sleaze balls?"

"It wouldn't be so bad to have that notch on your belt, Hummel," Santana mused, side-eyeing Rachel as she began humming The Lady is a Tramp. "I know a lot of people can say they've tapped that, if the tabloids are anything to go by, but you can spin that tale any way you want once it's over."

"Santana!" Rachel rounded on her. "They wouldn't have warned him about Blaine if he wasn't a serious concern for Kurt."

"At least he could say he banged the lead singer of the band tweens used to wet themselves over back in 2016."

"Oh the temptation," Kurt said sarcastically, fishing his phone out of his pocket to see if his new itinerary had arrived yet. He had a lot of things to sort out before his first day in a week's time, and he wanted to be as prepared as possible. As it happened it was sat in his inbox.

From what he could tell the guys would be in New York for his first month, which was handy because Kurt's UK work visa would take up to three weeks to process once his Certificate of Sponsorship came through from the Canary Records London branch. Then they would be returning to London for studio sessions over the next two months.

He smiled at the thought of being in London a month from now. He'd always wanted to stand at the gates of Buckingham Palace, look up at Big Ben, see a few shows on the West End and view the skyline from the London Eye. Maybe he'd have a few moments to spare for that, when he wasn't running around after five pampered recording artists. A guy could dream.

"So you're really taking the job?" Rachel asked, resting her chin on his shoulder to look at the itinerary too.

"Definitely," he confirmed. "How often do these kinds of opportunities come up? And besides, the contract I signed says I can't fornicate with anyone in the band anyway, so there's no way I'd let him get me fired."

Santana snorted. " _Fornicate?_ Say 'fuck' or nothing if you ever want to get laid again. Are you the only assistant?"

He nodded. "For now. Why?"

"Well, bands and recording artists always have huge entourages, or at least I will when I make it big," Santana said. Kurt smiled indulgently at that. "Don't bands usually have at least one assistant per band member?"

"Wes said they've had a lot of trouble keeping people on as assistant," Kurt responded quietly. He ignored the twinge in his stomach telling him to be wary of that fact. Why did they struggle so much? Surely it can't just be harmless pranks and Blaine's libido that scared people away? "There are plenty of other people around to help me out though. Wes and his assistant Quinn are always there apparently. And as far as entourages go, theirs is pretty large."

"Maybe I should apply," Santana said. "Help you keep them in check."

"No offense, but I'd rather do this without you digging your claws in on my behalf, effective as they are."

She shrugged and tossed her sleek dark hair over her shoulder to cascade down her back. He didn't need her there. He didn't. Kurt wished his subconscious sounded convinced.

* * *

The week before his first day went quickly for Kurt, and on Monday morning, he swallowed down the swarm of butterflies batting their wings insistently at the walls of his stomach. Nerves were normal, good even, healthy. Weren't they? I mean, it was just a job that could either be the best or worst thing to ever happen to him. Nothing to worry about...

 _"Please_  be the best," he muttered to himself.

Spending the week convincing himself he was ready for any challenge was a wasted effort. The inevitable doubt crept in on Sunday night, right on time for a restless night. He gave up on sleep two hours before his alarm, in favor of occupying his head with mindless reality shows, and by the time he needed to leave, he'd been dressed and pacing the living area of the loft for over 40 minutes.

Quinn met him in the lobby when he arrived at Canary Records at 8 am sharp. They spent the whole morning walking to and from the elevators so she could show him around the New York building as an actual employee.

For that reason he didn't meet any members of the band until lunch time. Quinn dragged him to the cafeteria and left him to eat and relax for an hour, while she ran some errands. He was quite glad of the alone time. Quinn wasn't one for small talk, and she didn't laugh at any of his witty quips. He could already see why the Warblers might not be so fond of her.

"Well, I haven't seen you before?"

Kurt startled at the distinctly English voice from his left and choked on a lettuce leaf. The blonde boy stood to the left of his table cocked his head and bounced on his toes in anticipation, like he was a Labrador being introduced to a brand new chew toy. Kurt finished swallowing his food as gracefully as possible and held his hand to his chest.

"Holy shit, you scared the crap out of me!"

Blondie grinned at that and parked himself on the bench across the table from Kurt. "Yeah, I get that a lot. Are you new, or have you been hiding from us?"

"New," Kurt confirmed. "I'm Kurt. It's my first day."

"Jeff," the other said, held his hand out for Kurt to shake and climbed onto the bench across the table from him. "Nice to meet you, mate. Kurt..." He mulled the name over in his head. "Kurt, Kurt - KURT!"

Kurt clamped his teeth over his fork to stop himself choking on grated carrots this time.

"Nick, what's the name of the new assistant, again?" Jeff bellowed at a dark haired guy who was piling food onto a plate at the buffet cart.

"Wes called him Kurt," Nick responded, not even turning around.

Jeff jumped out of his seat and jabbed his index finger in Kurt's direction excitedly. "Found him!"

"I wasn't aware I was playing hide and seek," Kurt deadpanned, baffled by the ball of energy before him.

Jeff chuckled as Nick approached. "And he's funny."

"Shit Wes,  _really_?" Nick scoffed, throwing a glance at Kurt when he settled down at the table without so much as a 'this seat taken?'

Kurt watched the pair shovel food into their mouths. It took a few moments longer for him to connect the dots and appreciate the significance that he was speaking to one English guy and an Irish one. They were Warblers.

"Nick Duval and Jeff Sterling, I presume?" Kurt said, surreptitiously wiped his hand on his trouser leg, and held it out for Nick to shake. "I'm your new slave."

Nick took a moment to look from Kurt's hand to his face, eyes narrowed. Kurt shifted uncomfortably and almost lowered it again, embarrassed. Nick's frown was replaced by a lopsided and genuine smile a moment later though and he accepted the gesture. "Nice to meet you, lad. You don't sound like a New York native to me."

"Neither do you," Kurt quipped.

"That I'm not," Nick conceded, and chewed a mouthful of mash potato before continuing. "I'm from Northern Ireland. Belfast."

Kurt nodded. He'd read Nick's Wikipedia page. "Lima, Ohio."

"Jeff here tells everyone he's from North London, but he's actually from the East End. It fits better with the band's preppy image. You'll notice the difference when he's drunk and the cockney comes out in him."

"Will that be often?" Kurt asked. He wasn't a big drinker himself.

"Most likely," Jeff butted in. "We drink how you Americans eat."

"Said the guy eating three meals in one, while I pick at a salad?"

Nick froze with a forkful halfway to his mouth, eyebrows raised. "And what is your attitude to junk food?" he asked seriously.

"Widely positive," Kurt replied, sensing this could tip their approval of him one way or the other. "I'm only on the salad today because I over indulged on pizza and cheesecake this weekend."

"Yes!" Jeff lifted his arms in victory. "Can we keep him? Our last assistant was a health freak. He kept swapping chocolate for breakfast bars and fruit." He scrunched up his nose in distaste.

Kurt felt his pain. Living with a vegan like Rachel was a nightmare, when he was craving real cheesecake. "So anyway, Wes seemed to think I needed warning against taking the job with you guys," Kurt said with a clear of the throat. He'd rather get to the bottom of this mystery now, possibly nip any ploys and plots in the bud early. He looked between them expectantly.

"Did he now?"

Kurt jumped for the third time in the space of five minutes at the new voice. Did people around here lurk behind potted plants before meeting new people? Looking up, he tensed when the Warbler he knew to be Blaine, sat down on Kurt's bench.

"What was he warning about?" Blaine asked, elbows against the table behind him.

Kurt didn't miss the sweep Blaine's eyes did over his dark skinny jeans, fitted waistcoat and the silken blue scarf wrapped around his neck. His mouth opened and closed a few times; Kurt didn't know how to answer that. Truthfully, he'd hoped he wouldn't be caught off guard meeting this particular Warbler, after Wes' discussion with him.

"Well, you look like shit." Jeff scowled at the back of Blaine's messy head of curly hair.

Blaine shrugged. His hazel eyes (which were larger in person than in pictures) were dulled by the presence of dark shadows beneath them, his jaw dusted with stubble rarely seen on the singer at public events.

"Late night," Blaine said with a wink.

Nick rolled his eyes. "Where were you?"

"Around. What did Wes warn you about?" Blaine asked Kurt.

He cocked his head to the side and gave Kurt a lopsided smirk, that was answered by the narrowing of Kurt's.

"I think the usual introduction when you first meet somebody is: 'Hi, nice to meet you, my name is Blaine'," Kurt said coldly. "Considering I just did it for you though, I'll be the polite one and say: Hello Blaine, my name is Kurt. It's a pleasure to meet you." Kurt smiled sweetly, fluttered his fingers and went back to his salad.

"Alright mate, chill out!" Blaine held his hands up in defeat, directing his middle finger at Nick and Jeff when they sniggered into their lunches. "You already knew who I was, and I figured Jeff had latched onto the new assistant, so I knew who  _you_  were. Excuse me for taking an interest."

"Taking an interest? Is my first job going to be teaching you proper etiquette and manners?" Kurt snapped.

He tensed when Blaine's hand pressed against his knee. "You can teach me manners any time you like, darling," he said coyly.

The color in Kurt's cheeks spread to the tips of his ears. Moving himself to the edge of the bench and out of Blaine's reach, he held his index finger up in warning. "Not happening, Anderson, so don't even go there."

Blaine was saved from replying by the arrival of Quinn, who surveyed the scene before her with narrowed and critical eyes.

"I see you three have met your new assistant. Is everything okay?"

"Fine," Kurt said. "Is it time to go?"

She nodded. He got up and put his tray and plate away in the disposal area.

"Well, he's a bit prickly. What the fuck was that?" Kurt heard Blaine say as he walked past. He waved to Nick and Jeff and offered Blaine a curt nod, barely withholding a smirk at Jeff's gleeful reply as he left the cafeteria;

"Oh, we are  _so_  keeping this one. That, my friend, was a rejection. Welcome to the real world, Blainey."


	3. Staying Afloat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad this story has been received well so far. Thanks for the feedback!
> 
> Below is a map to give those of you not familiar with the UK's geography, a better understanding of where the five Warblers hail from in this story. Dalton has also been highlighted, because it is where they all met. I hope it helps.

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=1owy1c)

Kurt hated to admit it, but by his third day as The Warblers’ assistant, he could see why so many former employees quit on them. When Wes said they were a handful, Kurt should have realized he meant that in the plural sense. Had he been equipped with six hands he might have stood a better chance of keeping tabs on all five of them. As nature would have it though, he had to make do with the two, so his job was next to impossible!

It started the morning of his second day.

Step one: Phone Blaine, Jeff, Nick, David and Trent (the latter two, he’d only met in passing the day before) to make sure they were awake, and knew where they were supposed to be that day.

Such a simple task with below satisfactory results. Calling Blaine first to get him out of the way didn't work out, because there was no response to his messages. Nick answered on the fifth ring, but Kurt quickly hung up when he realized there was someone in the background determined to let the world know _exactly_ what they were doing. Jeff informed Kurt he was at the gym, and if Kurt didn't have a blueberry muffin on offer when they got to the office, their relationship was doomed from the start. Kurt had rolled his eyes at that, but wrote the muffin down as a job to do. David had asked him if he knew what the time was and hung up, and Trent very apologetically informed him he’d crashed in New Jersey the night before.

All of that took a staggering 45 minutes and he was late on his morning schedule.

“You look like shit already, Hummel,” Santana said, when she walked out of her bedroom partition.

Kurt arrived at Canary Records with minutes to spare, sweating and disheveled… or so he thought. It turned out _someone_ had altered his schedule without his noticing, so the meeting he’d ran across New York to ensure The Warblers were on time for, was scheduled for 10am not 8.30am.

“It starts,” Wes said sympathetically and clapped Kurt on the back.

Four of the Warblers were present by the time 10am rolled around. Kurt tossed the muffin at a grinning Jeff and deliberately didn't bring up the schedule thing.

Of course one of them was the culprit, but his dad always said: ' _Never show weakness. They’ll get bored and find another plaything.'_  

Kurt dialed Blaine’s number again.

 _“23 missed calls from you. If you wanted me this badly, all you had to do was be nice to me yesterday. I would have happily rimmed you,"_ Blaine opened with upon picking up.

Kurt choked on his own saliva and lifted the phone away from his ear, staring at it in horror. “Excuse me?”

“For fuck's sake,” David growled. He snatched the phone from Kurt.

“Blaine, if you don’t get your smug arse over here in the next fifteen minutes, I will personally see to it your balls are strung up on a flag pole… don’t lie to me. I couldn't give a toss if you were stuck on the toilet with _diarrhea_ ; we all had to get up, so you can too. Oh, and cut the guy a break, it’s his second day. At least let him settle in before you attempt to shag him.”

David hung up and gave the phone back to Kurt.

“Thanks.”

“The tosser deserved it,” David said, shrugged and went back to helping Trent solve a level on Farm Heroes.

Step Two: Wes had learned early on that the boys didn't pay attention in meetings, unless all methods of communication were taken off them. Kurt had to not only take them away (Trent was particularly attached to his iPhone and it took the combined effort of David, Nick and Wes to wrestle it off him), but also take calls on their behalves during meetings.

All of his administrative work took far longer when he was picking up one of five phones every other minute to take abuse and messages from strangers.

He couldn't deny it was interesting though, learning this much about them simply by the people who called them. Jeff’s mother called five times that Tuesday alone, Blaine seemed to get text messages from someone named ‘Latest Squeeze 67’ on a regular basis (some of which made Kurt blush to his roots), and if the phone calls David received were any indication, he was in an ongoing battle with his cellphone network provider.

On Wednesday he awoke to no less than 22 text messages asking him to run errands. Sat up in bed, he scrolled through them sleepily.

**Jeff (06:03): Just remembered it’s my mate Lloyd’s birthday next week, can you buy him a present for me?**

“Nice and vague.”

**Nick (06:07): I’m out of condoms. Please find a shop that sells Durex Real Feel. Need them tonight.**

“Too much information.”

**Jeff (06:17): Actually can you buy my mum something too?**

“Not a mind reader, Jeff.”

**Trent (06:19): Hey! How are you? I've got a suit in the dry cleaners that needs picking up. Quinn can give you the address. XXX**

Kurt smirked. “And you couldn't give me the address yourself because…?”

**Jeff (06:23): You can just find a florist in London if you want. Ask them to send flowers to Mum. Ta!**

“They better take internet orders. I'm not calling a florist in England from here.”

**Quinn (06:25): Wes wants the boys' costume confirmations from the stylists for tonight’s gig.**

Kurt rolled his eyes at that.

  **David (06:26): If you bring me a latte today, I’ll drag Blaine away from you by the ball sack.**

“Deal.”

**Blaine (06:29): ‘Latest Squeeze 68’ is gonna text me later (could have been you). Can you tell him to get lost for me later? Cheers, gorgeous.**

“Not even going to dignify that with a response.”

**Jeff (06:33): If the message could say “Happy belated birthday Mum! Love Jeff” that would be awesome.**

And the list kept coming. After checking their driver knew the correct time to pick the band up (he confirmed with Quinn this time), he made his way to Central Park where the band would be performing in a one-off spring music festival. They were scheduled for a sound check that morning. Kurt gave David his latte, received playful abuse from the others for favoritism, ran to find Wes to let him know all were accounted for, and spent the next five hours working down the list in between taking calls and answering emails.

By the time he got back to the park, having dropped off Nick’s condoms, and Trent’s dry cleaning at the hotel, he handed off the 10 packets of MnMs they asked for after lunch, and despaired when the boys added seven items to the list. They were trying to kill him. He flopped down at the nearest table in the temporary 'break area' for concert staff.

“Long day?” the curvy African American woman to his left asked. Mercedes, his brain supplied. He'd briefly met her on his first day.

Kurt put his head down on the table in response.

Mercedes chuckled.

“You need coffee and a bagel,” she said. Kurt nodded and made to get up, but she manhandled him back down on the chair and wagged a gloved finger. “Sit down. I’ll be right back.”

Kurt watched her head to the counter, and smiled in gratitude when she returned with a steaming cup full of coffee, a muffin and a bagel. She waved away his 'Thank you', and watched in amusement when he groaned in pleasure from the first sip.

“If it makes you feel better, you've lasted a day longer than thirteen of their former assistants,” she said.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “They lasted two days?”

She nodded and sipped her own coffee, head tilted thoughtfully. “I think they like you. They’re going easier on you than most of the others.”

“This is easy?” Kurt said incredulously.

Mercedes snorted into her cup.

“I think they recognize you won’t break easily,” Mercedes carried on. “I overheard the conversation you had with Nick, Jeff and Blaine on Monday. They know you’re not gonna’ take crap from them. Speaking of, how’s Blaine been? How many times has he implied he wants to get in your pants?”

Kurt groaned and put his head in his hands. “I've lost count. Is he always so…?”

“Crude?” she supplied. “Pretty much. He’s a nice guy, really. He’s just… I don’t know, hormone driven? David says he used to be quite shy back at boarding school, but ever since they hit the charts and he admitted he was gay to the press, men come easily for him. No pun intended," she added when Kurt snorted into his cup. "We’re all hoping he’ll calm down soon, but so far…”

Kurt sighed long-sufferingly. Blaine had done nothing but put Kurt off. He’d hoped he would take Kurt's warning to stay away to heart after that first day, leave him be. On the contrary, he took it as a challenge to his ego rather than a plea to respect Kurt’s personal and professional space. If only Kurt could get through to him, they could try and be friends at least.

“What exactly do you do?” Kurt inquired.

“I’m the assistant stylist. Jan’s my superior.” She jabbed her thumb at a woman with cropped, vibrant red hair, who was talking heatedly with the hair and make-up assistant, Sugar. “By the way, if you’re going to ask me to send the costume confirmations to Wes, I already did it, so you can cross that one off your list.”

“Oh my god!” Kurt dropped his spoon and scrambled for his phone. “I can’t believe I forgot that one! Thank you, you just saved my ass!”

“Just tell me we can be friends and I’ll call it even.”

Kurt looked up at that. “I think I can find that agreeable.”

Grinning widely, Mercedes checked the time on her cellphone and stood up. "Good. I gotta’ run. Can you send the five of them over to me and Sugar around three, please? Their set starts at 7.30 and they need to do a dress rehearsal before the crowd is allowed into the concert space at four."

"Sure," Kurt said, checking the time and noting it down as a priority. "See you later."

* * *

 “Blaine?”

Kurt tapped on the door of the band's trailer after dress rehearsal and stood back, hands in his pockets. The bitter wind had been numbing his fingers all day, the color in his cheeks pink and blotchy. Who thought it was a good idea to throw an outside concert in March, anyway?

Catching Blaine on his own, was not Kurt's first choice. They had been busy all day with sound checks, choreography rehearsals, hair and make-up, and meet-and-greets though, so he could either address him now, or wait until the concert was over. The sound of squealing, excited females could already be heard crossing the barriers out front.

Blaine opened his trailer door dressed in an over-sized sweater. Leaning against the door frame, he crossed his arms with one foot casually behind the other. “I was wondering how long it would take you,” he greeted, dipping his head to the side coyly.

Kurt steadied his irritation with a big breath. “This is a business call, Anderson.”

“They all are.” 

“Look,” Kurt said, fishing the cellphone Blaine handed him earlier in the day out of his jacket pocket. “You were right about that guy texting you. I've tried to tell him you’re not interested, but he won’t shut up. And the last text he sent you was a picture of his... his uh, his dick so…”

Surprise was evident in the way Blaine blinked at him. “You've seriously been answering my texts for me?”

“Well, yeah, you asked me to.”

Blaine grinned at him in amazement, showing all of his bleached white, but not entirely straight teeth. “You are something else. I think I’m on Jeff’s side, we should keep you.”

Kurt ground his own teeth together. “I take it the other assistants would never do this for you?”

Blaine shrugged. “I couldn't care less if they did or didn't. The important thing is _you_ did, and I have to wonder why?”

Kurt cocked his head, confused. “… Maybe, because it’s my job?”

“Are you sure about that?” Blaine left his door open and descended the three steps to the grass beneath them. Kurt took a step back. “I like to think it’s because you secretly want to impress me.”

“Are you always this full of yourself?” Kurt asked.

“It’s the accent, isn't it?”

“Not all Americans love British accents, Blaine.”

“ _You_ do.”

“You’re deluded.”

“You’re in denial.”

“Look, what do you want me to do about the guy?” Kurt snapped. He had better things to do with his time.

“Well,” Blaine smoothed down his curls, gelled back for the concert, “ideally you would take off your clothes, snap a photo with me and send it to him with the caption ‘sorry, busy sucking cock’. Then you would allow me to do so back there on my couch.”

Oh, for the love of-

“Stop!” Kurt spat, fists clenched at his sides.

“What?”

“It’s not funny, Blaine. Maybe this is all fun and games to you, but I’d actually like to be able to go to work without being sexually harassed by an arrogant douche-bag, who doesn't understand the meaning of the word ‘no’!”

Blaine looked suitably chastised. “Sexual hara – Kurt!”

“Just stay away from me, Anderson. Answer your own texts in future.” Kurt chucked the cellphone up in the air, not caring if Blaine managed to catch it, spun on his heel and stormed away, leaving Blaine to gawp at the back of his retreating form.

"Kurt? Kurt, come back. Kurt!"

* * *

 Kurt tried to mask the upset of his confrontation with Blaine from everyone else for the remainder of the working day. They had more important things to do than comfort the new guy.

He couldn't hide it when he returned home later that night though, couldn't even look Blaine in the eye when he reminded each of the band members to be ready at 5.45am for a morning of interviews about their new brand cologne. He was so tired by the time he pushed his loft door open, that his emotions were heightened, his body ached from a hard day, and he just wanted comfort.

Rachel, lounging on the couch, took one look at him and opened her arms.

"You can file a complaint against him for sexual harassment, honey," Rachel whispered into his hair after a time.

Kurt shook his head. He didn't want to make a name for himself as the guy who filed a lawsuit against Blaine Anderson, if he could help it. And besides, with a bit of luck his outburst earlier would have put the arrogant pig in his place, for good. And if not?

Hummel’s weren't quitters.


	4. The Missing Warbler

An incessant buzzing awoke Kurt in the early hours of the Monday the band were due to head back to London. At first he ignored it, sighing in relief when it went away. The buzz would return seconds later over and over though, and after the fifth time Kurt had no choice but to answer, for fear of Santana making good on her threat;

“If you don’t answer that phone, Hummel, I will shut your fingers in the kitchen draw!”

Kurt groaned and rolled over to latch his hand clumsily around his cell phone.

“What?”

_“Do you know where Blaine is?”_

Kurt squinted at the name on the phone's screen in puzzlement. “Quinn?”

 _“No, it’s your fairy godmother,”_ she snapped. _“Yes it’s Quinn. Where’s Blaine?”_

“Quinn it’s,” he looked around for his digital alarm clock, “it’s 4.15 in the morning. I’ve been sleeping. In Bushwick. How the hell would I know?"

 _“Oh, my mistake, here I was thinking you were their assistant,”_ she said coldly. _“Listen, princess. The moment you took on this job, the whereabouts of all five of those boys became_ your _responsibility. That’s what you’re here for, to keep tabs on them so Wes and the rest of us can deal with everything else. I know you must love your beauty sleep, but you’re on trial. If you can’t cut it, Wes_ will _fire you. Find out where the hell Blaine is and get him to JFK 30 minutes before check-in, or don’t bother turning up because you won’t be coming with us to London. Got it?”_

She hung up before Kurt could answer.

“Shit.”

Rachel and Santana were peering into his room partition curiously. “Where’s the fire?” Rachel asked, rubbing sleep from her eye.

“Blaine’s gone missing and apparently if I don’t find him, I’m fired,” Kurt replied numbly. He switched his lamp on.

“What, so you’re his babysitter now?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I am.” Kurt frantically pulled up the schedule for today on the iPad Quinn had given him on his first day.

Check-in was at 9.45, so he had until 9.15 to find Blaine and get him to the airport.

He was never going to make it. He hadn’t even _spoken_ to Blaine since that Wednesday three weeks ago, Blaine having chosen to glower at the floor or leave the room when Kurt was around. The vulgar and suggestive remarks had stopped, but in their place he had chosen to make Kurt’s life as difficult as possible, his demands growing more ridiculous with each day.

His second week, Kurt was sent to purchase a long list of British products Blaine supposedly couldn't live without. Cadbury's chocolate, Yorkshire Teabags, Marmite, Pot Noodle, and something called a Rowntree Fruit Pastel that Kurt found by chance in an obscure store near Soho. Kurt had let himself into Blaine's hotel suite, dumped the three heavy bags down on the chaise lounge, and startled when a long, pleasured grunt came from behind the closed door of the bedroom. Fingers in his ears, Kurt was back in the corridor with the suite door shut behind him in record time.

Just this last Saturday, Kurt had spent an hour walking around the same block, over and over, trying to locate a specific shop that, it turned out, had closed the year before. Only, Blaine denied ever sending him there. Kurt had wrinkled his nose sardonically at that, accepted a sympathetic grimace from Trent, and went about his day with his head held high and proud. On Sunday, after three weeks of this shit, Kurt was near the end of his tether, when the child (Kurt refused to consider him a man) asked Kurt to go through his phone and call every number in his contacts list to check their validity. There were 3,134 numbers logged. He wasn't even a third of the way through the list.

And now he had to find the asshole or he was fired. Fabulous.

“What do I do? Who do I call? I don’t even know what types of places he hangs out in. I’m screwed!” Kurt said, pacing up and down his bedroom. Santana pushed him down onto his bed with an eye roll.

“Okay, first of all, calm the fuck down. Secondly, who knows the dick best?”

“The Warblers.”

“Then _call_ them, numb nuts.”

Kurt sifted through his phone’s address book, deciding the most sensible person to call would be David.

 _“Please tell me you’ve got Blaine?”_ David said, upon picking up.

“No, do you have any idea where he might be?” Kurt cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder as he hopped across his room trying to put his socks on, throwing a pair of jeans and an overlarge hooded sweater on over his undershirt. Fashion would have to wait.

_“We have a few ideas, but so far we’ve turned up empty. I take it Quinn called you?”_

“Yes. Apparently if he doesn’t turn up before check-in, I’m fired.”

 _“No you’re not!”_ Kurt heard Jeff shout from the background.

_“Nah you’ll be fine, Quinn talks out of her arse and makes threats when she’s under pressure from Wes, but Wes answers to us and not Quinn. We like you; ergo your job is safe.”_

“Blaine doesn’t,” Kurt muttered.

He fished his keys out of the bowl by the door, made sure everything he needed for the flight later was by the door (although he was convinced he probably wouldn’t need it), and asked Rachel to let the driver Canary Records was sending to collect his luggage into the apartment at 8:15. He slammed the sliding front door shut behind him.

“What happened, anyway? Why’d he disappear?” Kurt asked.

David sighed. _“There was an argument, he got mad, took off and hasn’t been answering his phone since. I wish I could say this wasn’t a regular occurrence, but I’d be lying, mate.”_

David listed off the places they’d checked already and some for Kurt to investigate, while he hailed a cab. Once they’d hung up he figured he may as well try ringing Blaine himself. The connection went straight to voicemail.

“Clever,” Kurt muttered. With his phone switched off, no one could trace Blaine location through the phone network.

30 minutes later the cab pulled up at the first diner. Kurt paid the driver extra to make him wait and ran in to check it out. He wasn’t in the main diner, or the bathrooms. After a quick conversation with the waitress, he knew no one famous had been there. The 24 hour bar he tried next came up negative too.  The only lead he was given turned up around 6am when Nick texted him:

**Nick (06:04): Someone just tweeted they saw Blaine staggering around near Central Park.**

Kurt cursed. Which side? Would he have to go looking for him _in_ Central Park? It was huge! He'd never find him in time. Kurt tried the next bar on the list to rule it out, before asking the cab driver to circle Central Park.

"You realize the meter is high now, don't you, kid?" the driver informed him at 06:46am.

Kurt nodded gravely. He could claim it back off Canary Records. _Or Blaine_ , he thought darkly. Kurt pressed his head against the window tiredly; his anger drained slowly, giving way to a twinge of genuine concern that felt like lead in his stomach. What if Blaine was hurt? What if someone had attacked him? Maybe he had been spotted by a group of fans and crushed in their excitement. Oh no, if he was laid out in a hospital somewhere he was fired for sure. What the heck had made him so mad, he walked out of the hotel the night before a flight home? Kurt was absorbed in the morbid direction his thoughts had taken, so he didn’t notice his phone buzzing in his pocket at first, when he finally fished it out, he cursed himself for missing Blaine’s call. He dialed him, knee bouncing impatiently.

_“Hey sssexy?”_

Kurt drew in a calming breath through his nose. “Anderson, where are you? Everyone’s worried.”

Blaine didn’t respond. Kurt frowned, confused by the mixture of harsh breathing and rustling that followed. Clash! Kurt jerked his head away from the speaker with a wince.

_“Fuck!”_

“Blaine, are you there?” More rustling and cursing. “Blaine? Where are you?”

 _“Why do you 'ate me?”_ Blaine’s voice was low, slurred.

“Why do I– what? What was the crash?”

 _“Phone slipped,”_ Blaine mumbled. _“Why... do you h-hate me?”_

“I,” Kurt slumped back against the headrest. He ignored the inquisitive looks the taxi driver was giving him. “Blaine, please tell me where you are? Are you safe?”

 _“I was just pay-paying you a compliment,”_ Blaine continued like he hadn’t spoken. _“I think you’d be great in bed. All guys want to be great in bed. What’s wrong with telling you that?”_

“Blaine, if you tell me where you are, I will come find you and we can have this conversation some other time, but right now, I need to make sure you are okay and don’t miss your flight.”

 _“Don’t wanna’ go,”_ Blaine moaned.

“Why not?”

_“You’ll be there.”_

Ouch. Kurt clutched the phone tightly, tried to will the frustrated tears away. How was this job so exhausting?

_“And the guys all hate me because five- five years of friendship means fuck all to ‘em, and they wish I wasn’t around.”_

“That’s not the impression I got from them earlier,” Kurt said shakily. Hummel’s aren’t quitters, it's true, but maybe self-preservation wasn’t such a bad route to take, just this once. “And if you miss this flight and hop on the next one, you won’t have to worry about me being there anyway. I won’t get to go.”

_“OW!”_

“Blaine, are you okay?”

 _“No,”_ Blaine groaned. _“I think I just fell over.”_  

“You… _think_ you fell over?” Wow, how drunk was he? “Blaine, do you know where you are? I’m in a cab right now. I can swing by and find you?” 

 _“Erm I - I dunno - New York."_ Kurt counted to five so he didn't lose his temper. _"Outside erm, outside the Wal... Wal uh, Waldorf Astoria.”_  

Kurt gave the name to the cab driver and made Blaine stay on the line the whole journey, encouraging him not to move. Luckily they were close, and he soon spotted a curly headed figure in a leather jacket, his head leaning against the outside wall of the hotel. Kurt climbed out of the taxi, shot an apologetic look at the disapproving doorman, and approached Blaine. 

"Blaine?" He lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and prized the phone away from Blaine's ear. "We need to go." 

"No we 'on't," Blaine slurred, slipping on the sidewalk. Kurt caught him around the waist and choked; the stench of stale booze that seeped from every pore of Blaine's body and puffed from his mouth, was rancid. 

"Come on, the taxi's waiting." 

Blaine managed three steps towards the road and puked over the sidewalk. Kurt's screech was loud as it narrowly missed his shoes. 

"...Or not. Okay, new plan. You sit here for a moment." 

Kurt ran to pay the cab driver, knowing he wouldn't let Blaine in now. Watching the car drive off, he crouched beside Blaine, rubbing his back. A fresh wave of vomit dripped from his mouth. Kurt made sure to breathe through his mouth, and whispered softly in Blaine's ear. 

"In through your nose and out through your mouth. Good boy. That's it."

Blaine groaned his misery.

"I know, it'll pass," Kurt said. "Keep breathing." 

"Sowwy, so sorwy," Blaine gasped. 

"Shhhh, let me know when you're feeling up to moving, because that doorman looks like he's about to call the cops, if the twitchy eye is anything to go by." 

Blaine choked a laugh and coughed up bile, a gurgling tear in his throat. "on't make me 'augh!" 

"Sorry." Kurt looked around sheepishly. 

It took 20 minutes and an argument with the doorman and manager of the hotel, before he was able to coax Blaine off the ground. He slipped Blaine's arm around his neck and kept him upright, to walk a clumsy path across the road, eventually finding an entrance into the park and a bench nearby. 

"Sit." Kurt manhandled Blaine onto the bench and sighed when he curled up in the fetal position across the entire length of wood. He had no idea what to do. It was 7.30am. Call Wes? Quinn? Or David? 

He chose David. 

 _"Alright mate, any luck?"_ David said, his voice edged with frustration. 

"I found him outside the Ritz-Carlton on 59th," Kurt explained, "before he puked his guts out." 

David cursed colorfully. _"Never gonna be allowed back there. Where are you now? We're about 20 blocks the other way. We'll come get you both."_  

Kurt told him their whereabouts and hung up. Scooping a bottle of spring water out of his bag, he settled on the ground, eye-level with Blaine. If he focused on Blaine's condition, between fleeting glances at the fitted Calvin Klein V-neck stretched across his chest under his leather jacket, well, he would vehemently deny it. Now was not the time to admire a well chiseled body, and Kurt was a professional. His offers of water to the sick boy were accepted in small sips as they waited. Kurt shivered in the chilly morning air, wondering what was taking the guys so long. An old couple on a morning stroll through the park, shook their disapproving heads at Blaine's obvious condition, so Kurt offered back a sarcastic wave until they turned away. Who were they to judge? Like they weren't young and prone to mistakes once?

Feeling a pair of eyes on him, Kurt's attention returned to Blaine. He blinked droopily back at him and made a feeble grab for the water bottle. Kurt smiled, relieved when Blaine took a more generous swig this time, and managed to hold it down. 

“What did you mean by ‘you won’t get to go’?” Blaine asked. 

Kurt noted his voice was clearer, less slurred than before. “Quinn said it was my job to keep tabs on you," he said, "and if I didn’t find you, I was fired.” 

Blaine's mouth opened and closed a few times, as he processed the words. Then he pressed his forehead into the wood of the bench and mumbled gratefully as the varnished wood, damp and cool in the early spring morning, soothed his heated skin. 

"Sorry," Blaine whispered. 

Kurt shrugged. "It's fine. I'll just quit before Wes can be persuaded to fire me. At least then it'll be on my own terms." 

"What?" Blaine tried to sit up, and thought better of it when his head spun. "Why would- you found me. I'm found. I can't exactly run from you right now." 

Kurt looked away, unable to take the scrutiny of his deep hazel eyes. Despite their glassy quality, Blaine seemed to be seeing Kurt with more clarity that morning than any other time they’d conversed. Like he'd finally realized Kurt was a person, not a prop. 

"You told me you didn't want to go to England because I'd be there," Kurt whispered, drawing his knees up to his chest protectively. "I don't want to make you miserable, Blaine. It's better if I just-" 

"Stay."

"What?"

Blaine sat up with difficulty, his grip tight on the bench for support. "I made you hate me. I don't want you to. So stay."

"I don't hate you," Kurt whispered. "Frustrate me, yes, but it's not hate." 

Blaine was silent for a few minutes. Kurt thought he might have dozed off, but then he whispered, "I'm sorry I harassed you. I - I didn't realize I was doing that until you said it." 

"It's okay. I get it." You're used to getting away with things, he added silently. 

A car screeching to a halt interrupted any further progression of the conversation. Jeff, David, Nick and Trent hurried through the gates on foot, with little to no regard for the law, if the state of their parallel parking was anything to go on.

"There you guys are!" Nick called out.

"You look like shit, Bee," Jeff said.

"Fuck you," Blaine moaned.

"We called Wes to let him know you found him, Kurt," Trent said from behind Nick, who was helping David haul Blaine up and back down the path.

"Time to catch a flight, Blainers," said Jeff, "and if you puke in the car, you're paying for it. It's a rental."

"You coming with, Kurt?" Trent asked, and offered Kurt a hopeful, wide-eyed, boyish smile.

Kurt chewed on his nail and looked from Blaine to Trent, torn. Was Blaine serious about wanting him to stay on as assistant?

"Well?"


	5. Flights and Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picture from Glee live came from [here](http://imgfave.com/view/1460191). If this is wrong, let me know and I'll credit properly.

When Quinn informed Kurt of the details of their flight to the UK a week earlier, she had failed to mention one fact: The plane was not a commercial one. His jaw dropped when he caught sight of the white private jet through the window of the terminal, and it didn't close until well after they'd boarded the plane.

By 'they' he meant the five Warblers, Wes, Quinn, and three fourths of the band’s security team; Mike, Dean and Noah (who everybody called Puck). Apparently most of the entourage had either already flown out, or only worked for the band State side, and would be replaced by their permanent UK counterparts.

Kurt ignored the amusement in the glances four of the Warblers were giving him (Blaine passed out the moment he sat down). Could they blame him? He'd only ever taken flights from Ohio to New York and back and suddenly he was on a plane with chrome interior paneling, a 40 inch HD television with Xbox One, PlayStation Vita, and even a classic Sega Mega Drive. A disco ball hung from the ceiling, champagne flowed freely, and there was more room to stretch his legs than Kurt had in the living area of his apartment.

It was a far cry from Lima, Ohio, where he’d lived out his first 18 years of life.

Most of the flight was spent watching the band and Puck play Call of Duty, Sonic the Hedgehog and Mario Kart, the boys switching between consoles every hour or so. Kurt took over for Jeff every time he needed a bathroom break, which was a lot with the amount of soda he drank, but mostly he just read from his e-reader. Every time Blaine stirred, Kurt would press a water bottle into his hand, watch him sip at it, smack his lips tiredly, and fall back to sleep. One time he even cradled the bottle into his chest. Kurt had bitten back a laugh at that.  

In truth though, he wasn't convinced he was still welcome. What if Blaine had said he wanted him to stay because he was drunk and the moment he sobers, goes back to treating him like a lackey, easily taken advantage of and a potential notch on his belt?

He was supposed to be daydreaming about finally seeing London, not worrying about this.

"Stop babysitting the idiot," Nick said after Blaine passed out again for the ninth time. "He never could hold his drink. That's his problem."

"Said the Irishman who’s body is made up of 70 percent Guinness.” Jeff sniggered and put on a high voice. "'Nicky has a temperature, give him some brandy. Can't sleep, Nicky? Mix in some brew with his warm milk'."

“Hey! Me mam’s home remedies work better than any of the rubbish yous buy in a pharmacy,” Nick rebutted.

“No it’s not, you’re just too drunk to notice you’re still sick,” Jeff said.

“She never gave me enough to get drunk, you gob shite. And I’ll bloody do you if you keep insulting her methods,” Nick warned, eyebrow raised challengingly.

Jeff unbuckled his seat belt and stood up, hands raised in challenge. “Bring it.”

Nick lunged, pulling Jeff down to the floor, where the pair rolled around in the gangway.

"Oh... my."

Kurt looked to Wes in alarm, hoping he'd receive some guidance in how to respond to this, but the manager was engrossed in his tablet, typing away. Quinn wasn't bothered either, a roll of her eyes the only indication she'd caught the exchange between the boys.

“They’re just playing around, Kurt,” Trent said from the seat beside him. 

“Oh.” Kurt scratched at the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

Trent's smile was reassuring. "It's fine. You're not the first to misunderstand, and you won't be the last. I don't know what Americans are like, but on our side of the pond, we're really horrible to our friends and ridiculously polite to the people we hate."

"Why?

"Because we love each other."

"Ah, I see," Kurt said dryly. "Explains a lot."

Trent laughed heartily. "Eh, you'll get used to it. What part tripped you up before?"

“The ‘bloody do you’ part,” Kurt admitted.

“It’s just another way to say ‘I’ll beat you up’,” Trent explained, adding at Kurt’s alarm, “but it’s just play-fighting. See?”

He tilted his head to the floor beneath them, and Kurt watched as Jeff’s head popped out from under their seats. Comically gagging, he was pulled under again by Nick’s hand at the scruff of his neck. Now he really looked at them, he could see they weren’t actually hurting each other.

“Boys,” he mumbled.  

Trent laughed.

Crossing his legs primly, Kurt’s eyes settled back on the boy curled up opposite him. Asleep he appeared younger than his nineteen years, innocent even, not like he had the expectations of a huge fan base, the media, and his record label on his shoulders.

“I take it you two sorted out your differences?” Trent asked quietly.

“Define sorted out?”

Trent rolled his eyes. “Have you kissed and made up? Got it on? Bitten the cherry?”

He aimed a kissy face at Kurt, so the assistant jammed his elbow into the youngest Warbler’s side. At eighteen, Trent still maintained a level of baby fat that reduced his assumed age by several years. Looks were deceiving though, and Kurt was determined not to let a kid four years his junior sass him.

“We talked as well as one sober person and a drunken one could,” Kurt said vaguely. He sighed and took in the curls tumbling over Blaine’s forehead. “I’m not sure I understand him.”

“Welcome to Warbler World!” Trent declared. “There’s a lot about him we don’t understand either, these days.”

“He said you guys had a fight,” Kurt said in a hushed tone, cautious eyes on Blaine. “That you guys seemed to hate him now. What was the fight about?”

“Trent can you help me break these two idiots up?” David called.

“Yeah, I’ll do it now-in-a-minute,” Trent said airily, turning back to answer Kurt.

“That makes no sense...” Blaine mumbled, shifting into the fetal position in his seat. “You can either do it now, _or_ in a minute, you Welsh weirdo.”

Trent got up to poke Blaine in the ribs, before dancing away to help David pull the wrestling duo apart. Had Blaine been awake the entire time? Feeling eyes on him, Kurt met Blaine’s tired ones apprehensively. Not knowing what else to do, he raised the water bottle up in offering. Blaine shook his head and closed his eyes again, an uncertain smile upturning his lips.

“No thanks, sexy.”

There was no intent behind it. Kurt smiled at the name for the first time, rolled his eyes and pulled his e-reader back out of his satchel.

“… We were fighting about you,” Blaine mumbled.

He was snoring before Kurt could think of a response to that.

* * *

**_ The Daily Mail _ **

**_ Warbler in Underage Drinking Scandal _ **

[ ](http://imgur.com/yP2q3Cf)

_Lashing out at paparazzi, crude language during interviews, partying until 5am daily, one night stands with celebrity men; these are all allegations which have been held against Blaine Anderson in the last 8 months. And now we can add underage drinking to the list._

_A source has told Entertainment Weekly that the nineteen-year-old lead singer of British boy band The Warblers, was allegedly spotted staggering around the streets of New York in the early hours of Monday. A group of fans who found the Warbler near Central Park tweeted their concern:_

**_BeccaOMGwarbler:_ ** _Think I just saw @Blaine_Anderson near Central Park. Even when he’s drunk he’s hot!!!_

 **_StarGirlToDaRescue:_ ** _Looks like Blaine's been out on the town again. Hope he gets home ok. He seemed lost…_

_Representatives for Anderson have declined to comment on the incident, although his brother Cooper, who is famed for his role in the UK’s BT phone commercials (see clip below) has branded the allegations ludicrous._

_“He’s legal here in the UK, so he does drink, but he knows the rules in the US. Cut the kid a break.”_

_The source, a taxi driver who claims he drove a close friend of Anderson’s during his quest to find the singer, reports the anxious acquaintance found Blaine puking up outside a swanky Manhattan hotel. Perhaps the older Anderson doesn’t know his brother that well, after all?_

* * *

“Was that you?” Wes asked.

Kurt looked up from the tablet Wes had handed to him, the article already open on the web browser and ready to read.

Having landed at Heathrow Airport in London in the evening, Kurt had barely settled into his room in the hotel they were staying in for ease of access to the city’s center, when he received the call to come talk to Wes in his hotel room.

His heart was pounding in his chest from Wes’ scrutiny. He didn’t like that tone of voice. Wes was calm, too calm.

“I… Yes,” Kurt answered.

Wes gave a curt nod and Kurt squirmed in his seat, not daring to break eye contact. “Did you say Blaine’s name at all during your taxi ride?”

“I,” Kurt broke off trying to think. “I might have? I think I called him ‘Anderson’ once and ‘Blaine’ the rest of the time when I – when I was on the phone with him,” he admitted.

Sighing, Wes leaned back in his seat, took his reading glasses away from his nose, and drank deeply from his coffee mug. “For future reference, we would prefer that during any incident of this nature, you exercise more caution with your words and actions,” Wes said, returning the mug to a coaster. “We have a whole PR team working hard to maintain the reputation of this band. Months of hard work can be undone with an article like this, especially if the police look into it.”

Wes didn’t seem cross. More resigned, tired and disappointed. And that made it even worse. He hadn’t raised his voice once. Kurt was powerless against the guilt gnawing at his gut, like a hungry piranha.

“Sorry,” Kurt said quietly.

He couldn't blame Wes for being mad at him, if truth be told. He should have been more careful. He had signed a damn confidentiality agreement, for goodness sake. Wes had every right to fire him on the spot.

"You're a hard worker Kurt. You're tough. The guys all like you. I don't want to have to let you go, but if repeat incidents happen, I won’t have a choice."

There was a rapid knock on the door and it was flung open before Wes could open his mouth to call, 'come in'. Blaine swaggered over the threshold, key card in hand and leaned casually against the wall, eye line naturally falling on Kurt, who was sat in the chair opposite Wes.

Kurt swallowed and turned away from Blaine.

"You wanted to see me?"

Wes didn't even look up from the papers he was shuffling through. "Just don't let it happen again, Kurt. I've taken the liberty of getting you another copy of the confidentiality agreement. I suggest you memorize it to avoid further indiscretion. You may go."

Kurt took the papers and stood up with a nod of understanding.

"What's Kurt done?" Blaine asked, stepping to the side to block Kurt's exit.

"The taxi driver who spoke to the press about Monday morning drove Kurt to find you," Wes informed him. "I was simply reminding Mr. Hummel that he needs to be more discreet in future.”

Kurt tried to sidestep Blaine and ignore the sweet smell of his cologne - Lynx, if he wasn't mistaken - but the singer moved the same way, crossed his arms and cocked one of his triangular eyebrows coldly at Wes. "Well, funnily enough indiscretion can be forgiven when your job is on the line."

"Blaine," Kurt warned, eyes wide, head shaken imperceptibly.

"Would you have given much thought to which taxi you used, or what you said in front of the driver, if that _bitch_ you call an assistant had threatened to fire _you_ during your first month?" Blaine pressed. "Because I know I wouldn't have."

Wes looked between them in confusion. Kurt closed his eyes and wondered if will power was enough to make his apartment materialize around him, an ocean away from this awkward situation.

"Well, I," Wes stumbled. "If that's true then she had no right to threaten Kurt with a dismissal. I'll get to the bottom of that. Kurt, you may go now. Please shut the door on the way out."

Kurt offered Wes a wan smile and shook his head disbelievingly at Blaine, scooting around him to close the door with a snap. He leant against it for a few moments to arrange his thoughts in an order he hoped would make sense. They didn't. He was still none the wiser why Blaine was suddenly defending him.

"…Don't fucking blame the new guy for my mistakes then!" Blaine bellowed from behind the door.

Kurt jumped away, hurrying down the corridor.

"AND MAYBE I DON'T WANT TO BE BABYSAT!"

One thing was for sure, Kurt thought. The elevator doors binged closed behind him. Blaine Anderson was a riddle Kurt wasn't sure he _should_ decipher.


	6. Signings and Favors

Kurt knew fans could get a little... passionate. He had an internet connection, after all, and saw the way celebrities were treated by fans and trolls online. One of his duties involved scrolling through Blaine, Trent, David, Jeff and Nick’s social media accounts, making sure people sending hate to the five of them were blocked.

He realized quickly that even his idea of fanatical was pretty far off the mark though. Canary Records had scheduled the boys for a CD signing at HMV in Oxford Street the Wednesday after the band's return to the UK and, well, the queue mostly consisted of excited teenage girls, middle aged mothers, well dressed teenage boys he suspected were here for Blaine, and the occasional father who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

Kurt opened the door that separated the staff rooms from the main shop floor and stared, eyes wide, at the mass of people queuing between the shelves. The buzz of voices like a hive in the summer.

“Crazy, right?” said David, peering over Kurt’s shoulder.

A young girl looked past Kurt and screamed when she saw David. The entire room full of fans turned to look too, like they were one entity, screaming and jumping to see what all the fuss was about. Kurt quickly snapped the door shut. The door barely muffled the commotion they'd caused on the other side.

Laughing incredulously Kurt asked, “How the hell are you supposed to get through all of them in two hours?”

“Think of it like a production line," David began, walking back into the staff room with Kurt in tow. "Dean’s usually stood behind us telling the stragglers to hurry up. Puck stands at the entrance to the table area, informing fans they can’t take pictures with us and when to move forward.”

“They can’t?”

David settled on a sofa next to Nick. “We want to see all of them, and the powers at be think it slows down the queue too much. Plus, a lot of them use the flash and it stings the eyes after a while,” he explained, in a tone that made it quite clear he didn't agree with the ban at all. “It’s not fair, but-”

"It is bullshit,” Blaine said. He was sat, one leg thrown casually over the other, on the sofa opposite David’s.

Kurt cocked his head at him. He'd grown so accustomed to seeing Blaine with his curls loose in the recording studio that he'd forgotten all about the gel that usually slathered them down during official functions. He’d have to have a word with Sugar about gelling techniques, because that amount of grease on the singer's head was unnecessary. He could oil a wok with that. Blaine winked and gestured to the seat beside him, but Kurt was hesitant and eventually perched on the other side of the three seater sofa, legs crossed primly. Blaine's crooked smile fell slightly, but the strum of his fingers against the guitar strings continued.

"We'd stay for four hours if it meant making every fan feel special," said Blaine.

"Don't start..."

"He started five hours ago, Nick," said Jeff.

"The bottom line, gorgeous?" Blaine cut across. "Fans rarely get to take pictures with us unless they've paid for it, or they stumble across us on the street. Every time we've tried to take photos at events like this, we get yelled at afterwards."

"Why?"

Blaine rubbed his fingers together and sang, "Money, money, money, something funny, in a rich man's world!"

Kurt's spine tingled pleasantly, the notes of the song beautiful in Blaine's tenor.

"What did Wes say this time?" Trent asked. He was laid out on the floor, arm over his eyes.

" _Well, if you can somehow acquire a Tardis, Blaine, then by all means throw an all-day signing_ ," Blaine mimicked Wes' watered down, but still distinctive Yorkshire accent.

"Doctor Who!" Kurt blurted out.

All five Warblers, Puck, Dean, Quinn and several other staff members looked up at that.

Kurt blushed. "Sorry, I, I understood that reference."

Blaine bit his lip and looked down at his guitar, unable to hide a little smile.

"You're up guys!" Wes clapped his hands together and walked through the door. "Dean, Puck to your places. Blaine, you're on the end, then Nick, Jeff, Trent and David. Come on, chop chop!"

"Why is Wes the only one handling today?" Kurt muttered in Nick's ear. "I thought PR reps did this too?"

"We're currently 'between reps'," he whispered back. "There was a major disagreement about two weeks before you arrived."

Kurt didn't have time to respond because the door swung open. It was cacophony when the boys walked out in single file, fans screaming, signs waving, staff trying to keep control. Kurt would have taken a moment to feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of preteen girls in the room, had he not been determined to ignore Quinn's signal for him to follow her. Walking purposely over to the front of the queue, he waited alongside Puck for the press photos to be taken, and turned to the first fans Puck let through into the table area. He raised a challenging eyebrow at the bodyguard and smiled politely at the nervous teenage girl and her mother.

"Hi there, you're not allowed to take photos with the boys, but if you give me your camera, _I'll_ take a picture of you meeting them and give it back to you. As a keepsake," Kurt said.

Puck opened his mouth to protest, but then smirked and dipped his head in acknowledgement as the mother handed her camera to Kurt. "You've got balls, kid,” he whispered darkly in Kurt’s ear. “If Wes asks, this was all you."

"Deal," Kurt called over his shoulder. He reached the signing table just as the girl was acknowledged by Blaine.

"Hi sweetheart, what's your name?" Blaine asked, wide toothy smile reaching his eyes for once.

"Gemma," the girl said bashfully and handed her copy of the new album to Blaine.

Snapping a quick photo, Kurt grinned at the confused furrow of Blaine’s eyebrows, momentarily surprised by the bright light from the camera. Kurt mouthed an apology and turned the flash setting off, but Blaine didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, his mouth formed a wondering O, and Kurt had to focus back on the camera screen to hide how pleased he was to have provoked such a grateful warmth in Blaine’s twinkly, hazel eyes.

Blaine signed a message for Gemma, handed the CD back to her, allowing time for Kurt to snap a better photo, and mouthed a ‘thank you’ after Kurt had given the camera back to the mother. Kurt winked in response and strolled back to Puck.

"Hi girls, do you have cameras? I can take a quick photo of you guys at the table?"

The three friends at the front of the queue squealed excitedly, declaring their favorites at the same time.

"Woah, woah, slow down, ladies, one at a time," Kurt cried with an overwhelmed laugh.

“Turn the flash off, Hummel,” Puck said.

For the next hour he fell into a routine: Ask for camera, turn flash off, snap photo, and hand back to owner.

It was tiring, running back and forth between the table and the queue, but the elation in the eyes of the fans who had expected to have no photographic evidence of meeting The Warblers that day, made it well worth the effort. The boys soon gave up on formalities at the table and started posing for Kurt deliberately.

At one point he saw Wes shaking his head at him, but he had a small smile playing at his lips, so Kurt took that as a sign he wasn't in any trouble.

It was fascinating watching how the guys interacted with each of their fans. Jeff was the most outgoing of the Warblers. David apparently had a reputation for fist bumps because almost every fan wanted one. Everyone wanted Nick and Trent to speak because they loved their accents. And as for Blaine, he was a hugger. He hugged each and every girl and boy who asked, even when Dean was telling them to move along. It was a softer side to the singer Kurt hadn't seen before. He liked this version of Blaine.

Finally the guys took a ten minute break to rest their hands (and smiles) and Kurt walked through to the back again, only to be yanked into the staff room by Quinn.

"Were you told to go and play photographer, fancy?"

"I – no, but-"

"I have 24 jobs for you to do, half of which you could have done by now, if you hadn't decided you're too good for them,” Quinn snarled. “Go do something _useful_ and buy coffee for those of us who are actually working hard at the _right_ tasks!" She thrust a list of coffee orders at him.

"Piss off, Quinn, we asked him to do it," Blaine snapped from the doorway.

The other Warblers filed in from behind him.

"Last we checked he was our assistant, not yours, angel," Nick agreed.

"Wes said-"

"Wes saw him doing it. He could have ordered Kurt to go do something else at any time," Blaine pointed out. "And you just want him to do the 24 jobs you can't be _bothered_ to do, because the stick up your arse is too firmly wedged now for you to realize: You. Are. Not. That. Important."

Her answering scowl was so venomous it could have sent a seven foot wrestler to his knees, but she seemed to decide this was one battle she wasn't going to win. Blonde ponytail flicking to the side, she turned to Kurt. "Go and get the coffee. You can carry on being incompetent when you get back."

She pushed Blaine into the staff room door and stormed back into the corridor, an awkward silence prevailing in her wake.

"Well, that was fun." Nick turned to Kurt. "Good thinking on the picture front."

Kurt shrugged bashfully. “You said you guys and the fans weren’t allowed to take photos, you didn’t say members of the team couldn’t.”

"I feel really stupid for not coming up with that," Jeff agreed.

"That's because you _are_ stupid," Trent quipped. He bolted out the door and down the corridor with Jeff in pursuit.

"Thanks, Kurt," Blaine whispered in Kurt’s ear. His breath was warm. Goosebumps sprouted across the back of Kurt's neck and shivered down his spine.

"You're welcome," he replied.

"Look, I, I know we haven't exactly hit it off," Blaine said, scratching the back of his neck, "but we've got a day off on Friday and I know you haven't seen the city yet. If incognito is possible for me, I can show you around? As a friendship gesture, I'm not coming on to you, I swear."

David raised his eyebrows at that.

Kurt pondered this. He wasn't entirely comforted by Blaine's last words, but he couldn't deny the hope for an opportunity to put the weirdness behind them. And if Blaine did try anything, there was always that defense maneuver his dad insisted he move to New York knowing four years ago.

"... Just a friendship gesture?"

"Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in Jeff's eye."

"Oi!"

Kurt laughed when Jeff flew past the staff room with Trent in close pursuit, the tables apparently turned on him.

"Okay, you've got yourself a deal, Blainers."

Blaine wrinkled his nose at the name. "Go and get coffee, sexy."


	7. Touring London

He's not coming. Kurt tapped his foot against the marble floor of the hotel lobby and cursed when his watch switched to the next minute. They'd agreed the night before to meet in the lobby at 8.30am, but being wise to Blaine's sleeping patterns, Kurt had arisen early and gone up to his suite door to make sure Blaine was up. When there had been no answer, he'd shrugged it off and chosen to give him the benefit of the doubt.

09:03am.

Kurt tapped his phone against his bottom lip and decided to call him, seeing as he wasn’t answering his text messages

 _‘The mobile phone you have called, is switched off,’_ said a computerized English woman’s voice.

Was this a joke? Had he been pretending to be nice to Kurt to trick him into thinking they were friends? Was Blaine going to stand him up, then jump out and laugh in Kurt’s face? He shook the thought away; for all of Blaine's faults, he wasn’t a vindictive person. Unless you counted the first month of stupid demands, but Kurt had moved past that.

There was a commotion at the front door of the lobby, and a pair of loafers skidded to a halt in front of Kurt. He could only gawp as Blaine clung to his own knees, panting. His shoelaces were tied clumsily, tight black dress shirt half buttoned, creased, and clinging damply to his torso.

The lobby felt a little warm all of a sudden.

"Kurt, I'm so sorry -" Blaine gasped, wiping at the sweat on his forehead with his sleeve. "I was out. And then my phone died so my alarm didn't go off... I'll be ten minutes, I promise. I just need to shower and throw some clothes on, I'll be back-"

And then he was gone before Kurt could greet him. True to his word, Blaine jogged back towards him from the staircase ten minutes later.

"Sorry! Sorry, I'm such an idiot. Were you waiting long? Wow, I guess you dress that way even on days off, huh?" said Blaine, hand dragging his bang down over his forehead.

Kurt looked him up and down. Blaine had changed into a pair of loosely fitting jeans, a dark blue Dalton Academy sweatshirt with the hood up over his head and converse on his feet, in complete contrast to the tight black jeans, knee-high boots, and over-large sweater Kurt had chosen for under his trench coat. Entirely different from the preppy attire Blaine wore on stage, and the tight jeans and leather jacket he seemed fond of in his down time.

“What?”

“That’s a… interesting choice of clothing,” Kurt blurted out.

Blaine peeked around the hotel lobby and let his hood down, exposing his dark hair. The damp curls had extra bounce today. If only Kurt could touch them without seeming creepy.

“I’m trying to remain inconspicuous. How bad is it? I only walk around like this when I don’t want to be recognized, but, well, it’s London. There’s a lot of opportunity for exposure.”

“It’s not bad…” Kurt trailed off, because in all honesty it wasn’t. He suspected the handsome bastard could pull off _sweatpants_ and hooded sweatshirts without looking like a slob. “It’s just different. Where were you anyway? I thought you were staying here too? Did you go home?”

Where exactly did Blaine live? Kurt had never been asked to collect the mail from Blaine’s residence, not like he did for David, Nick and Jeff. Did he even have a home, or did he prefer to live out of a suitcase?

“I was around,” said Blaine tightly.

“Around?”

“Yes.” Kurt stared him down. “Okay, so maybe I went out last night to let my hair down a little-”

“-And you found another notch for your belt. Got it,” Kurt finished.

Blaine's lips thinned in irritation. "I don't only go out with the intention of getting laid."

"Were you this time?"

"Well... I didn't go _looking_ for it, it just kinda’..."

"Uh huh."

"Shut up," Blaine said with an eye roll. "Do you wanna’ go play tourist or not? Because I warn you now, I might be a rubbish tour guide."

" _Rubbish_ ," Kurt repeated under his breath, testing it on his lips. "If I'm not satisfied I'll get a refund."

"Very good then, onward and upwards, dear fellow." Blaine lifted his chin and walked off.

* * *

 Two hours later Kurt decided Blaine was a liar. He was actually a very good tour guide, and as a first day off since this whole adventure started for him, the bar for future excursions was set pretty high. Blaine gave Kurt a list of all the tourist attractions he'd been able to think of off the top of his head, and allowed him to choose which ones they went to and when.

"Buckingham Palace," said Kurt immediately.

"Ah, now I would agree with you, but if we go a little later you'll get to see the guard swap shifts," Blaine countered.

"You get to see that?"

"Yep, we can go there now and hang around if you want, or..." Blaine tapped at the map on his iPhone, "we could take a look at Hyde Park first. It's right next door."

"You're the Londoner," said Kurt.

Kurt followed him into the nearest tube station, Blaine earning himself an elbow to the ribs, when he teased Kurt for referring to it as ‘the subway’.

“Subway is a sandwich shop, Kurt.”

“Ha-ha,” Kurt deadpanned.

The park was stunning in early spring, daffodils trumpeting to the nation that the winter months were finally coming to an end. Not all of the trees were blooming and budding yet, but greenery was plentiful and Kurt didn't even mind when a tiny patter of rain drops fell on them, too busy enjoying the fresh smells and sights around him; the sloping lawns, Serpentine Lake and pretty pathways through the undergrowth.

[ ](http://imgur.com/X6bsClI)

"I think I prefer this to Central Park," Kurt admitted after a long walk in comfortable silence.

"Oh, I don’t know, Central Park has its perks," Blaine said, smiling as a dad lifted a toy boat into the lake and helped his son, who looked no older than three, to push the buttons on the remote control. "I'm more likely to be spotted there than here though. It's weird. Even though I'm here more often, Londoners just couldn't care less and usually leave us alone. In New York all it takes is one screaming girl and you're surrounded."

"Maybe it feels like more of a novelty for New Yorkers, because you're British?" Kurt pondered.

"Hmm, maybe. If we leave now we'll make it just in time for the guard switch over, by the way."

They did make it to Buckingham Palace. And with minutes to spare, locating the roped off area outside the gates where tourists were welcome to watch from. Blaine adjusted his hood, flattening it down and pulled Kurt through the throngs of tourists by the material of his coat. Eventually they found a break in the crowd close to the iron gates that lead to the front door of the palace. From here they had a perfect view of the Queen’s Guard. Dressed smartly in their signature red uniforms, tall bearskin caps fastened securely on their heads, they were stationed at key vantage points all over the grounds, clearly to better enable them to protect the sovereign. Some were on foot, and others were astride regal horses, but they all carried long black rifles under their arm.

The clock struck 11am and Kurt beamed around him giddily when the changeover began, ignoring the little smirk Blaine was trying his best to hide. Kurt was witnessing a royal ceremonial tradition with his own eyes. Nine-year-old Kurt Hummel, sat in his room hosting royal tea parties for his stuffed animals, would have pee'd himself with excitement if he'd known he would get to see this in person thirteen years on. Kurt was going to relish the experience. 

The guards who had been on duty moved through their rehearsed formation with practiced ease for the next half an hour, trumpets squealing, feet stomping to the beat of the drums. It was equal parts intimidating and mesmerizing to watch. Then they lifted their guns onto their shoulders and turned to march away, only to be replaced by another section of the Queen's Guard, who took up their vacated positions and stood to attention. Silence fell over the palace once more and the crowd cheered for the last time.

Kurt had the urge to send the video he’d recorded of the spectacle to all of the former New Directions with the caption: _'We never nailed a routine like this'_.

[ ](http://imgur.com/7VtELps)

"Do they really never smile?" Kurt asked, once the crowds began to disperse.

"I've never seen it. They only move if you are a possible threat," Blaine explained.

Kurt watched a group of Japanese tourists pull silly faces at the nearest guard to take up his position. Not once did the guard's mouth even twitch.

"The Queen's home, you know."

"How can you tell?" Kurt asked.

"The Royal Standard.” Blaine nodded up at the flag pole. “That's her official flag, it flies when she's home. The rest of the time they fly the Union Flag. Look, see."

Sure enough a flag Kurt wasn't familiar with was flapping in the wind above the palace. He felt a rush knowing he was so close to the Queen of England. What was she doing right now?

"I've always wanted to come here," Kurt admitted. "Here and Windsor Castle."

"Royal residences, huh?" Blaine said thoughtfully. "Maybe I'll take you to Hampton Court sometime. The Tudors lived there. And if you're not squeamish, the Tower of London's always a good visit."

* * *

Eventually the rumble of his stomach became loud and embarrassing, so Blaine led the way back to the nearest tube station. It was just past midday when Kurt found himself walking through Leicester Square, taking in the spot where most of the major UK film premieres took place. Which was unsurprising because there were three different cinema chains dotted around the Square itself. Blaine joined a queue for the _Häagen_ - _Dazs_ cafe.

[ ](http://imgur.com/PPzrK5y)

Kurt checked around them uneasily. Blaine’s hood was up over his curls again but the square was heaving with tourists. “Are you sure you should be somewhere this crowded?” he whispered.

Blaine’s smile was easy. “I’m trying another new thing where I hide in plain sight,” he revealed. “We’ll see how it pans out. Hey, relax, I wasn’t approached once at Buckingham Palace, right?”

"Okay,” Kurt acquiesced, unconvinced and sure Blaine was asking for trouble. “I thought we were getting lunch?"

"We are."

"Ice cream does not count as lunch, Blaine."

"Of course it does!" Blaine cried good-naturedly. "The ice cream is immense here, and you can have whatever you like. It's on me. I was late, it's the least I can do."

Kurt pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Okay, but serious question: Can we go into MnMs World afterwards?”

Blaine cracked up laughing. "Yes! I was trying to think up a way to drag you in."

Eventually a waitress seated them on the top floor, after a tense moment of recognition that left Kurt biting back an ‘I told you so’. Luckily the table she chose was tucked away in a corner, so they could hang out relatively unobserved. Once the waitress had taken their ice cream and drinks orders, they chatted amiably while they waited, Kurt marveling at just how easy it was to talk to Blaine like this, when no one they knew was around.

"Tell me something I don't know," said Kurt.

Blaine pondered a moment. "Did you know that Hitler was actually Austrian?"

"About you, dummy."

"Well, you didn't specify," Blaine reasoned, hands up in surrender. Kurt kicked him under the table. "Okay, okay, let's see. I hate peas. Your turn."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Fine, don't play... I looked you up on Wikipedia but there's nothing specific about where you're from or anything."

"Ah, that's because my family moved around a lot. Dad used to be a pilot, but for the last eleven years he’s been training up new pilots all over the world. Mum and I were dragged from London to Glasgow, Glasgow to Los Angeles, over to France for six months and a brief period in Australia," Blaine admitted. "Eventually Mum insisted it wasn't healthy for me to be moved around all the time, so they shoved me in Dalton Academy when he took a job in Italy. Dalton is where all the Eton rejects go. Cooper – that’s my brother – he’d already run off to pursue acting, so it was just me."

"Where were you born, then?"

"London, but I lived the first few years of my life in Surrey when dad was flying from Heathrow airport. Surrey is the county Harry Potter grew up in," he added at Kurt's questioning brow. "We still have a house there, and I used to spend the holidays there when school was shut. What about you, where are you from?"

"Ohio. I lived in Lima until I was eighteen and moved to New York with my best friend, Rachel."

"Rachel? That's the shrill one I can sometimes hear in the background when you call, right?" Kurt nodded with a grin. He couldn't wait to drop that bombshell on Rachel. "So did you work, go to college, or what?"

"I interned at Vogue.com, initially. And then went on to study at NYADA. I just graduated."

"Wait, wait, if you're a NYADA graduate _and_ a former intern at Vogue; what the hell are you doing picking up our dry cleaning?"

Shrugging, Kurt replied, "I guess, somewhere along the line I stopped wanting to be on stage. I always dreamed of Broadway but there just aren’t roles for people with my range. I was a flying monkey and in the chorus in Wicked, but only because Rachel suggested me as an emergency replacement when a guy was injured. She was playing Nessa Rose at the time. Afterwards there was an off-off-off Broadway production of Romeo and Juliet set in a space station, but it didn’t pay well.”

“A space station?”

“Don’t ask.” Kurt chuffed a laugh. “Anyway, I had to figure out a back-up plan. Isabelle, she was my boss at Vogue, she kept me on while I looked around for another job, but there just weren't any permanent positions available when I graduated, only part-time. She gave one hell of a reference though."

Blaine cocked his head to the side, amber eyes twinkling in interest. Kurt colored at the scrutiny. He was so used to Blaine's flirtatious detachment and hedging, that the attention was a little uncomfortable, self-conscious.

"And the new plan is?" Blaine pressed.

"I'll let you know when I work it out. What about you? Was being in a boy band always the plan?"

"No, not exactly. I always wanted to play music, write it, record it, play in pubs and busk for change, that sort of thing." Blaine smiled wistfully. "The Warblers were Dalton's a capella choir. A talent scout from Britain's Got Talent was in the audience at a competition we won and suggested we audition for the show."

"I thought shows like Got Talent and Idol were supposed to be open call?"

Blaine grimaced. "Yeah, that's not entirely how it works. They send out talent scouts to make sure there are decent and entertaining acts on each year. A lot of people who aren't invited by someone within the show, don't even get past the producers. They decide if you're good enough to audition for the judges and live audience."

"Not so reality TV?" said Kurt dryly.

"Sorry to ruin the magic," said Blaine with a sheepish grin. "Wes was totally against the idea of course, mainly because he was studying for five A Levels at the time.”

“What’s an A Level?” Kurt asked.

“It’s an academic qualification we study for over here from ages sixteen to eighteen,” Blaine elaborated. “Wes was taking his in five subjects so he was really overworked at the time, but we voted on it and went along to the audition. We were only the runner up that year and none of us expected to be approached by a record company. We just performed for the fun of it and auditioned for Got Talent in our school uniforms." He chuckled at the memory.

"Everyone loves a uniform," Kurt reminded him.

"School uniforms are mandatory over here. They're not the novelty your lot sees them as," Blaine teased. "The only reason we blew up is because the girls in America wet themselves over the uniforms." Blaine wrinkled his nose at that and Kurt had to laugh. The female attention must be heaven for David, Nick and Jeff – Blaine and Trent (Kurt suspects), not so much.

"Anyway, it all happened kind of fast,” Blaine continued. “Most of the guys decided they didn’t want the fame, and Wes agreed to manage us once his exams were over, so our twelve piece choir became the five of us."

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah, I love it," Blaine admitted. "Not all of it, but I love our fans, I love performing. I love the rush of feedback from the audience. It's the bullshit behind the scenes I'm not so fond of."

Their ice cream arrived before Kurt could respond, so he dipped his spoon in his bowl instead.  "Oh my god!" Kurt moaned. "This is so good."

Blaine bit his lip and spooned a hefty amount of ice cream into his mouth, suddenly very interested in his own bowl.

The rest of the day was spent chattering about lighter topics as they traveled from destination to destination: Big Ben to St Paul’s Cathedral, the West End theater district to Harrods. They hadn't touched the surface of all the places Kurt wanted to see, but something told him he'd have time to look. Not that day, but another certainly.

As for Blaine, well, perhaps they could be friends after all.


	8. Uh oh!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a blink and you'll miss it mention of Finn in this chapter. I probably should have mentioned this before. I started writing this before Cory, and I didn't have the heart to write him out like canon had to. He's barely mentioned in later chapters, but just in case it is an issue for anyone.

**KaseyWarbling:** That moment you bump into @Blaine_Anderson in MnMs World and enter the afterlife!

 **Jeff2MyNick:** @KaseyWarbling OMG SERIOUSLY? Where was this? Was he with anyone? DETAILS WOMAN!

 **KaseyWarbling:** @Jeff2MyNick LOL! It was in Leicester Square. He was with a friend.

 **BlainersGurl34:** @KaseyWarbler Pictures or it didn’t happen!

 **WatTheWarbler:** @KaseyWarbling @Jeff2MyNick was it a guy? Wat did he look like?

 **KaseyWarbling:** @WatTheWarbler @Jeff2MyNick Brown hair, tall, pale, American. Wore a trench coat and knee high boots. They were looking at novelty MnM shot glasses.

 **Dina4Lyfe:** @KaseyWarbling @WatTheWarbler @Jeff2MyNick sounds like that guy who was taking pictures at the CD signing the other day…

 **Jeff2MyNick:** @KaseyWarbling @WatTheWarbler @Dina4Lyfe OMG do u think they’re dating?!!

 **KaseyWarbling:** @Jeff2MyNick @WatTheWarbler @Dina4Lyfe I didn’t get a couple vibe from them… he’s probably their assistant or something.

 **WatTheWarbler:** @KaseyWarbling @Jeff2MyNick @Dina4Lyfe Uh oh! I’ve got smutty Blaine seducing his PA feels now!

 **Jeff2MyNick:** @WatTheWarbler @KaseyWarbling @Dina4Lyfe SOMEONE WRITE THIS!!! If you include kinky MnM shot glass antics I will love you forever!

 **Dina4Lyfe:** @Jeff2MyNick Done ;)

* * *

_"Kurt, is that you?"_

Kurt hummed happily at the sound of his dad's voice for the first time in weeks. The one thing he hated about being out of the country, was the lack of interaction with his dad. Neither of them could afford to stay on the line for long, and while Kurt would argue his independence until he was blue in the face, he'd always want a regular line of communication with his father.

"Dad, you have caller ID, you know it's me."

 _"Well, you told me those Warbler guys were pranksters. Can't be too careful. And no one calls at this time of night,"_ Burt reasoned.

Kurt checked the time and realized it was just after midnight in Ohio. "Sorry, I didn't think."

_"No worries, buddy. Anytime you wanna' call, you can. So, what's up, you homesick?"_

"A little," Kurt admitted. "Don't get me wrong, I love it here. It’s just hard work. The hours can be long, and the boys really are mischievous."

Kurt chuckled. The day before he'd awoken to five Warblers jumping him in his hotel room. How they’d acquired a key card for his room was a mystery to him, and the fact he’d stashed his boyfriend pillow out of sight before they got a good look at it, was a miracle.

"It's worth the lack of sleep and aggravation, I guess,” he continued.

_"What about that Blaine guy? He giving you a hard time?"_

Sighing, Kurt rubbed over his bedhead and thought on how to answer. He wished he hadn't mentioned Wes' warnings to his dad. "Honestly? He's actually a really nice guy. I mean, we didn't hit it off at first, but, we talked it out and... I guess I could call us friends."

_"You don't sound too convinced of that?"_

"No, I am," Kurt assured him. "I just..."

_"Uh oh."_

"Uh oh?"

_"Don't go there."_

"Go where...? DAD! It's not like that!" Kurt squawked.

 _"It isn't?”_ Burt said doubtfully _. “He's a good looking guy, Kurt. And I looked him up on the internet. He’s starting to rival Clooney for notches on his bedpost. There must be something charming about him for that to happen. You always did fall fast and hard."_

"I do n-"

_"Exhibit A: Your stepbrother."_

"I was sixteen!" Kurt moaned. "I was young, naive and misguided. I'm an adult now. I've had enough experience rebuffing predatory men, to know how to defend myself against _Blaine_!"

 _"Too much information,”_ Burt said with a sigh. _“Feelings ain't always logical, Kurt, and I just wanna’ make sure you remember what I told ya’ back in high school."_

“I know, I know!” Kurt snapped. “I matter. Don’t throw myself around. Of course I remember, Dad, it was one of the most traumatizing conversations of my life.”

A knock on his hotel room door interrupted his tirade. Kurt checked himself in the mirror on the way to answer, phone against his ear.

"Anyway, even if I did like Blaine, Wes said I'm not allowed to date him."

Kurt swung the door open and froze. Blaine was stood on the other side, a cup of coffee in one hand, hazel eyes wide with surprise.

"…Dad, I have to get ready for work. I'll call you later when it's a better time for you." He ended the call before his dad could respond and rested the phone on his chin awkwardly, fidgeting with his pajama pants and flattening his hair with the other hand. "Erm, hi?"

"I brought you some coffee," Blaine mumbled and held a cardboard cup out to him. "Figured it might be nice for one of us to get _you_ coffee for once... I- bye."

"Blaine, wait." Blaine stopped with his back to Kurt, fists clenched awkwardly at his sides. "Thank you for the coffee. That was really sweet of you," said Kurt.

He wished a train or something equally distracting would run by and break the tension.

"You're welcome. It's a non-fat mocha. I - I heard you say you liked it." Blaine shrugged, smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes, and headed towards the elevator.

Kurt closed his door with a snap and banged his head on the wood once, only for it to be answered by a frantic _knock-knock-knock-knock_ from the other side. Kurt turned the doorknob and Blaine brushed through, facing Kurt, arms folded like a shield against his chest.

"I didn't mean to hear you, but..." Blaine cut off, eyes closed, stealing himself for his next words. "What did you mean when you said you're not allowed to date me?"

Kurt's mouth opened and closed on its hinge. "I -"

"What did Wes do?"

"It's in my contract," Kurt admitted. "I signed a contract that says my employment will be terminated immediately if I have any kind of relations, besides friendship, with you. Or anyone in the band, I guess."

"Right. Figures," Blaine said, the flare of his nostrils giving away his irritation. "So if I were to... what can't I do?"

"...Kiss me, ask me out, sleep with me - anything that isn't platonic. If I let it happen and anyone found out, I'd be gone."

Blaine ran his hands through his hair, clenched and unclenched his fists, scrubbed his hands up and down his face and looked up at the ceiling. "So why wasn't I told?" he asked. "If I could have accidentally caused you to get fired, how come no one told me?"

"I honestly don't know," said Kurt. "I thought Wes would have mentioned it..."

"Well, he fucking didn't," snapped Blaine. Kurt took a step back, stung by the venom in his voice, but Blaine reached out for his arm, eyes wide and panicked. "No, no, I'm sorry, I'm not mad at you. Wes. I'm mad- how could he not tell me? Surely that’s- I…"

Looking down at the non-fat mocha swilling around in the cardboard cup clasped in his hands, Kurt took a sip, head tilted in thought. For there to be a clause prohibiting Kurt from pursuing relations with members of the band in his contract, there had to be something similar written into their contracts too. Right? From his first day of employment, Kurt had been under the impression Blaine simply didn’t care about breaking the rules, but now? Was it possible he hadn’t read his contract properly before signing? Had he asked an independent lawyer to do it for him, and allowed any mention of employer/employee relations to go over his head? HR had been pretty damn thorough when Kurt was employed, surely they had brought it up with the guys?

"Blaine, I- did you ever have, like, a Saturday job before the band?"

"Huh? No, why?"

Kurt puffed a long, tired breath. Could he really be this naive? "Blaine, most employers advise against employer-employee relationships. It's not unusual for there to be stipulations in place."

"I...” Blaine tilted his head, genuinely nonplussed. “Really?"

“… Yeah. It’s kinda’ common knowledge…”

“Oh.” Blaine cupped his nose with his hands, Kurt's words seeming to connect some dots in his head. When he spun to face Kurt with a question, his amber eyes were wide, stormy and fearful. "But I've fooled around with members of our team, people at Canary Records, back-up dancers. I... Kurt, h-have I been getting people fired?"

Oh god, he genuinely is this naive. Kurt knew Blaine – and the others to an extent – were inside a bubble, but he hadn’t anticipated it being _this_ thick.

"I don't know, Blaine. I haven't been here all that long," Kurt said carefully. He stepped towards him like a vet approaching a distressed swan. "Some people could have been let go, if what you were doing with them was affecting their work."

Immediately Kurt wished he could take the words back. Blaine’s face crumpled faster than paper. Kurt felt a sudden desire to hug the poor boy, anything to erase the utter misery etched into every line of his handsome face, like Blaine was personally responsible for the drowning of a litter of puppies.

He had never seen him look so young before.

“I just assumed they wanted to get away from me," Blaine moaned into his hands. "It never occurred to me they weren’t given the choice. Fuck! Why has he never sai- why did he let me throw mys- why does he think he can control me like…?"

Kurt sensed the questions were rhetorical and stayed silent. Not that he could have added anything insightful to make him feel better. He suspected the words: ‘Maybe he did and you didn’t listen,’ wouldn’t go over well.

No, there was complication in this situation he would do well to steer clear of.

"I... have to go," said Blaine.

"Blaine, I'm sorry," said Kurt, because he was. Remorse sat heavily in his gut.

Blaine dipped his chin to his chest and sighed. "Don't be. It's not you."

He closed the door with a snap, leaving Kurt anxious and illogically upset.

_'Feelings ain't always logical, Kurt.'_

* * *

  **Jeff (06:55): Hey, so you know how you said we have to be in the lobby at 7? Going to be late.**

Kurt had officially been the Warblers assistant for two whole months as of yesterday. After three weeks in London with more work than play and even fewer phone calls home, Kurt did not need any of their bullshit. He was tired. Homesick. He cried when Santana phoned threatening to decapitate Rachel.

_"What the fuck is with the sobs, Lady Face?"_

"I'm just happy to hear your drama," Kurt choked out.

 _"I always knew you were a psycho,"_ Santana muttered.

**Kurt (06:56): Someone better be dying. Details?**

Signaling to David (the most awake of the four lounging around the lobby) that he was headed upstairs, the doors to the elevator shut behind him and he pressed the button for Jeff's floor.

**Jeff (06:58): Funny story. I have a girl in my room. She refuses to leave.**

Ah. Kurt dialed the number for the reception desk.

"Yeah, hi, there's a problem in Suite 706B. A girl is in Mr. Sterling's room and refuses to leave," Kurt said to the receptionist who answered.

_"Security will be up immediately."_

"Thanks." He hung up, shot a text off to Puck and checked Jeff's response as the door slid open revealing the seventh floor.

**Jeff (07:00): She's a fan**

**Kurt (07:01): You. Slept. With. A. Fan?!!!**

**Jeff: (07:02): ...technically no sleeping occurred. Just get up here please. I'm scared.**

Kurt paused outside Jeff's room, key card hovering over the lock and braced himself for whatever was about to happen.

Crash! A small object impacted with the wall the moment the door opened. Kurt yelped and held the door in front of him like a shield. Jeff's iPhone lay broken into several pieces on the floor by Kurt’s feet. Peeking around the door, he deduced that the red haired girl hovering over Jeff on the bed, had realized he was texting for help and snatched it from him.

Jeff, who had one hand handcuffed to the bed… and was naked. 

Had the situation not been so serious, Kurt's first instinct would have been to laugh. As it happens, the girl threw Kurt a dirty look and said, "Wrong room."

"No, not wrong room. Not wrong room!" Jeff whimpered, pulling at the handcuffs.

"Okay, GET OUT!" Kurt snarled.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Your worst nightmare if you don't get the hell off my friend. Get. Out."

"He invited me."

"You're uninvited."

"Kurt, call security," Jeff moaned.

"I already did that." Kurt took three large strides towards the girl - thankful she was wearing more than Jeff - and scooped her clothes up from the floor. "I suggest you get dressed if you don't want to be escorted from the hotel in your underwear."

The girl's answering scowl was ice cold as she scrambled to pull her dress and shoes back on. And she was decent not a moment too soon; the door burst open to reveal Puck in the entryway, flanked by two hotel security officers. Before they could pull her out of the door though, Kurt turned her to face him.

"Where's the key for the handcuffs?"

The girl seemed to realize she'd lost this battle because she dug around and produced it from her cleavage. "I love you!" she sobbed in Jeff's direction. Puck eyed Jeff up in amusement before the door slammed shut behind him. Jeff grimaced.

Now there was nothing to preoccupy him, Kurt was suddenly very aware of the state Jeff was in. Handcuffed. Naked. Lipstick all over his face and abdomen. He averted his eyes and barely contained an uncomfortable snort over this bizarre turn of events. 

"Okay,” Kurt was fascinated by the swirls in the ceiling, “first things first, did she hurt you?"

Jeff shook his head.

"So, she didn't do anything without your consent?"

"No, you stopped that from happening," Jeff said meekly. "Thanks Kurt."

"Okay, good. Good. I'm going to uh..." Kurt twirled the key around his finger, a blush tingeing his cheeks. "I'll sort everything. And I'll be back to uh, to free you."

"What? _Kurt_!"

Kurt slammed the door behind him and leaned against the corridor wall, squeezing his eyes shut. He wasn’t attracted to Jeff in that way, but _god_ he was only human. Could he get close enough to unlock the handcuffs without it becoming very, very awkward very quickly? Sure, Jeff wasn’t homophobic, but he’d tease Kurt every day for the rest of his life if he caught even a glimpse of a physical reaction.

Shoulders shaking with silent laughter – had he been five years younger he wouldn’t have even made it out of the room! – he eventually, when composure returned, sent out a mass text with one hand before the overwhelming urge to giggle consumed him.

**Blaine/David/Nick/Trent (07:09): Jeff was tied to bed by fan. Gonna be a little late leaving.**

On second thoughts, perhaps he shouldn’t have supplied them with the reason. There was no way they wouldn’t come see this for themselves. He bit his lip guiltily and dialed Quinn’s number to inform her of the incident. Kurt was still crouched by the door, phone to his ear, when all four band members skidded to a halt beside him.

"You’ll have to see it, to believe it," said Kurt. He dropped the handcuff and spare key card into David's hand. "We're leaving in 20 minutes so unlock him and pack up all your stuff before heading down. Quinn says we're switching hotels."

The four entered the hotel room and Kurt left them to it, grinning from ear to ear at the barely muffled whoops and shouts behind the closed door. Kurt had a hotel transfer to organize and a full day to re-arrange.

* * *

“Yes, that must be extremely irritating for you, Mr. Waters, but that doesn’t change the fact that Mr. Duvall is currently unavailable.”

Leaning against the wall outside a Soho recording studio, Nick's phone pressed to his ear, Kurt aimed a wink at Jeff as he returned from lunch. The band had been stowed away in Central London for four days, laying tracks down for their third album, and his friend was no closer to forgiving Kurt for the handcuff incident. Jeff lifted his index and middle fingers to his eyes, directed them at Kurt's own warningly, and slipped back into the studio without a word.

Kurt shook his head, unable to contain a small smile.

"Hey, Kurt!"

Kurt held his hand up to silence Blaine a moment. "I'd be happy to take a message on your behalf," Kurt continued to Mr. Waters on the phone.

 _“Unacceptable!”_ Mr. Waters thundered. _“This is the fifth time I’ve tried to get in contact with this asshole and every single time I’ve been told the exact same thing. HE NEVER GETS BACK TO ME!”_

Kurt winced and held the phone away from his ear a moment. “Well, unfortunately I don't have the power to force him. I can relay messages, but I don’t have any further say in what Mr. Duvall does, sir. It’s up to him whether or not he calls you back.”

_“Don’t get smart with me, you useless sack of shit!”_

Blaine tried to snatch the phone from Kurt, but he skipped away before he got close. “That’s it, insult me. That’ll make me more willing to help you out,” said Kurt sarcastically, examining his cuticles. “Please relay your message so I can pass it on to Mr. Duvall.”

“Forget it!”

The line went dead. Kurt pocketed the phone and turned back to Blaine.

“What can I do you for, Mr. Anderson?”

Blaine raised his eyebrows. “What can I _do_ you for?”

Oh my god! Heat rose to Kurt’s cheeks and spread to the tips of his ears. “I meant – no I – what can I do _for_ you? Oh no, not – not that…”

Chuckling, Blaine rested his hands on Kurt’s shoulders. “Relax, hot stuff, you’re fine. I mean, I - Kurt. You're okay, Kurt," Blaine said, dropping his hands hastily.

Kurt grimaced awkwardly. Blaine had been treading carefully with every word he said to Kurt, every slip up. And oddly, Kurt was hating every moment. The worst part of the situation though, was that the entire entourage had been gossiping about it behind their backs, ever since an intern had overheard Blaine and Wes screaming at one another over the issue for a solid 20 minutes in the Canary Records third floor conference room.

"The next time you inadvertently cause me to think about sex though, I will not be held responsible for the crudeness that comes out of my mouth,” Blaine said, the ghost of his old flirtatious smile creeping in.

“Fine…” Kurt's fingers were still pressed to his face in mortification. He recovered enough to inform a surly Nick about the phone call as he walked back into the recording studio.

Nick nodded shortly. “Thanks, Kurt,” he said, and shut the door behind him a little harder than necessary.

Kurt cocked his head questioningly. “Everything okay there?”

“No, not really. Nick and I have been writing songs together for two years and they keep rejecting them,” Blaine said, voice laced with bitterness. “It’s starting to get to him. Anyway, how often do you deal with arseholes like that on the phone? You seem… kind of okay with it.”

“Oh that?” Kurt fluttered his fingers dismissively. “My cheerleading coach was a tyrant in comparison. I think she’s made me immune to Neanderthals.”

Blaine's eyes bugged out. "Cheerleading? Male cheerleaders _actually_ exist?"

"Oh, I-" Kurt blushed again. "Yeah. There weren't many male cheerleaders on the squad, and I only really joined because Coach Sylvester said I could sing, but - Blaine Anderson! Are you thinking about sex?"

Blaine smirked up at him through his eyelashes. "I've been living in the wrong country _all my life_. How bendy were you? The guys, I mean."

"Blaine!" Kurt whined.

"I said the next time you made me think about sex, I would not be held responsible for my crudeness. You mentioned cheerleading. It's your fault. Were you in uniform?"

Kurt took it back. He hadn't missed this version of Blaine. It was all an elaborate lie. Rolling his eyes, he walked back through the front door of the recording studio and up the corridor. "Not listening."

"Was it tight?"

"I hate you!"

"No you don't. We've established that!"

"Screw you, Anderson."

"Is that a promise?"

Trent poked his head around the door to studio 4. "When you two are done flirting, you were supposed to be here ten minutes ago, hobbit," he said with an exaggerated wink.

Blaine paled and shot an uneasy look through the door. "No we weren't, I-"

"Blaine, I'm teasing," Trent said, his smile slipping over the reaction.

"Right. Yeah. I better get in there. Sorry, mate." Blaine eased through the door. Kurt shook his head at the silly boy, the corner of his lip upturned.

"Uh oh."

Kurt startled. He hadn’t realized Trent was still there. "Uh oh?"

Trent gestured between Kurt and Blaine, who they could see through the glass taking a set of headphones from their music producer, Sam Evans, who had flown in from Nashville. Jeff and Nick were saying something to Blaine that caused him to punch their shoulders playfully and throw a distracted glance out into the corridor.

"Don't. Even. Think it," Kurt warned.

"Too late,” Trent sing-songed. “For what it is worth, I think you'd make a cute-"

"-If you finish that sentence I will shove your microphone so far up your ass, you won't be able to find it for months. Clear?" 

"Crystal." Trent zipped his mouth for visual effect.

With a huff Kurt made to walk into the studio to see if anyone wanted drinks, food, condoms, anything.

"You won't be interested to know that several of Blaine's exs are going to be at the National Television Awards next week then. Wes is probably going to ask you to keep him away from them," Trent said casually.

Kurt stiffened, hand on the doorknob. "How many are we talking?"

"Mmmm," Trent mulled it over, "twelve, but ten of them were brief hook-ups."

"Twelve?!"

"Jeremiah will be the worst one. Sebastian won't be fun either," Trent carried on.

"Twelve?"

"I may have missed some.” Trent scuffed the carpet with the toe of his converse, a little smirk twitching. “The point is, it's going to be a minefield of men Blaine's shagged, jilted and loved."

That caught Kurt's attention. "...Who did he love?" he asked.

"Trent!" Wes thundered.

The door pulled open and Trent was yanked into the studio, leaving Kurt in the corridor, alone with his questions.


	9. The National Television Awards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind reviews. I have read them, but haven't had a chance to respond yet. I will get round to it, but until then, thank you for reading so far. I appreciate it.

The brief was simple on paper for the National Television Awards: Keep Blaine away from the celebrities he's bedded.

“Things could turn nasty, and we don’t need him to have any more negative press,” Wes explained in a meeting between himself, Kurt, Puck, Quinn and The Warblers brand new publicist, Kitty.

Kurt nodded his understanding. He knew that while the 12 piece a capella group from Dalton Academy became a five member band in the face of fame, Blaine's ability to charm his way into regrettable situations had not changed in the slightest.

With that in mind, Kurt was nervous.

"The organizers have been given a list of the people who need to remain segregated, so unless there's been a major cock up, Blaine won't be seated anywhere near," Wes carried on. He gave a folder to Kurt that was filled with brief biographies to go along with the pictures he would need to recognize the men in question.

“Quinn's going ahead to make sure the organizers have done their part, and we're being told if and when each gentleman arrives. All you have to do is keep an eye out and steer Blaine away from them. Don't worry about Nick, Jeff, David and Trent for tonight. Kitty will be keeping an eye on them."

Kurt nodded, glancing down the table at the blonde woman between Puck and Quinn. In time to start promotion ahead of the release of their third album, The Warblers had new representation in the form of Kitty Wilde. Small in stature and seemingly sweet in nature, Kurt had realized within the first five minutes of the meeting that looks were deceptive. She had a razor sharp mind and cutting tongue, evidenced by the verbal slap Puck had experienced when he suggested she looked a little young to handle such a high profile client.

Her last three clients had enjoyed a substantial increase in their public profile under her care, making her an obvious choice for Wes. Her job would entail taking advantage of opportunities to boost the band's profile, covering up their mistakes, keeping them out of trouble, and selling their brand to the public.

Whether or not she would achieve any of this without making herself very unpopular with the band members, remained to be seen, but for Kurt she couldn't have turned up at a better time. The boys were exhausting to look after at events like this.

When the meeting adjourned, Kurt took the folder away to memorize and later travelled in the same car as the five Warblers and Kitty to the ceremony. His leg bounced up and down to work off the excess energy. The task would be easy if the unpredictable variable – Blaine – didn’t do anything stupid, which he probably would, because he was Blaine.

They were already in the queue waiting for the celebrities ahead of them to exit their vehicles onto the red carpet, when Kurt received his first in tell through an earpiece.

 _“Chandler Keihl has already arrived,”_ Quinn’s voice announced _. “Apparently he’s with the journalists, so he’ll be with the photographers by the time you guys step out.”_

“What’s he doing over here?” Kurt asked. As a follower of Broadway circles, he knew Chandler wasn’t British.

 _“Some new play on the West End,”_ said Quinn. _“Sebastian Smythe is already inside mingling. Keep. Blaine. Away. From. That. Smarmy. Asshole.”_

“Oh. Kay,” Kurt snapped. “What about Number One?”

Kurt’s gaze flitted to Blaine momentarily, hoping he didn’t understand the one-sided conversation Kurt was having. Blaine seemed too busy staring out of the window and swatting Trent’s hands away from his classic black bow tie, to notice the oddity of Kurt talking to himself.

 _“No sign of Jeremiah,”_ Quinn replied. _“With a bit of luck he’ll stay away.”_

“What happened there, anyway?” Kurt asked nonchalantly.

_“None of us know for sure. Blaine was pretty beat up about the break-up though.”_

They pulled up at the entrance to the red carpet and Kurt gawped up at the venue. The Royal Albert Hall was exquisite to behold and intimidating in its nineteenth century extravagance. Barriers had been set up all the way around the edge of the hall, eventually leading up to the front entrance, to keep the general public and the media off of the red carpet worming its way to the road.

[ ](http://imgur.com/dr2nEfB)

Kurt allowed the guys to step out ahead of him. Red carpet events were still alien to him; the blinding lights, screaming fans along the barriers, abuse spat from the mouths of photographers trying to get a rise out of the celebrities in attendance. None of it was aimed in his direction – after all, he was nothing but a prop in the background when all eyes were on the band – but he still felt overwhelmed for the first 30 seconds or so. And then his mind slipped into work mode and he was able to begin his observations.

 _"Max Shockley is five cars behind us, so if you can’t get Blaine away from the fans, steer him to the opposite side,”_ Quinn ordered in his ear.

“Got it.” 

 _Who knows, maybe this will be the one task you don’t screw up,”_ she said snidely.

Kurt rolled his eyes into his skull. “And there I was thinking you’d go a day without being a bitch.”

Blaine was on the left of the red carpet signing autographs, smile wide and genuine, hair slicked back and dapper to match the tuxedo he’d been loaned that afternoon. Kurt tore his eyes away from the singer just as he pulled a ridiculous face for a camera. Focus, Kurt. Scan the area.

Chandler Keihl was posing for photographs, he noted. No sign of Sebastian. Looking back towards the arriving cars, Kurt saw Max Shockley step out of one with the hand of a girl clasped firmly in his.

“You didn’t mention that Max was a closet case,” Kurt muttered.

 _“Oh, he’s still got the beard on his arm?”_ Quinn responded. _"Fun fact: He used to be Jeremiah's co-star in a soap opera called Hollyoaks. They were good friends but then Blaine hooked up with Max right after he broke up with Jeremiah."_

"A soap opera within a soap opera," Kurt deadpanned.

Kurt watched as Max made his way to the same side of the red carpet as Blaine and cursed under his breath. Checking that Puck was with him, he kept his stride unhurried and casual upon approach. “The fans at the other barrier are feeling neglected,” he said.

“BLAINE! OVER HERE! BLAINE!” A girl from that side shouted, as if on cue.

“Hang on.”

Max was only two barriers down, so when Blaine dotted the smiley face on his last autograph, Puck moved to block Blaine’s view of him and Kurt turned him the opposite way gently. Blaine looked back at him curiously and whispered in his ear, “If you wanted to be that close to me, all you had to do was ask.” He winked and jogged to the other side.

Kurt's heart thumped loudly in his chest.

 _“Contracts don't stop him trying his luck, I hear,”_ said Quinn drily from his earpiece. 

“It’s harmless,” said Kurt, following after him. “I’m beginning to think he’s all talk and no bite.”

_"Uh huh, sure. He’s playing nice and waiting for you to let your guard dow- oh, shit!”_

“What?”

 _“The fucking idiots have put Blaine, Chandler and Sebastian within the same two rows!”_ she snarled. _“Sebastian is behind Jeff and Chandler is next to Blaine’s plus one.”_

“Plus one?”

He didn't know Blaine was bringing anybody. David’s girlfriend was already inside and Jeff was accompanied by his brother, but no dates had been mentioned for Blaine.

Quinn didn’t respond. Kurt surmised she had found someone to yell at for the screw up, so he squashed down the peculiar squirm below his navel and went back to keeping a look out, which was just as well, because the fan section had turned into a minefield of former hook-ups. He felt like he was in a sitcom, steering Blaine from one spot to the next, taking photos from the fans who were squashed at the back of the barriers to hand to Blaine and keep him occupied. Trying to casually hide his real motives from not only Blaine, but also his hawk-eyed fans.

No news came his way until Kurt had handed Blaine back to Kitty, and the five Warblers were finished being interviewed by the press. They were posing for the photographers.

 _“Kurt?”_ It was Wes in his ear. _“We told the organizers Blaine was bringing a plus one, just in case the seating was screwed up. Normally you’d be on standby elsewhere, but for today you’re going to be Blaine’s friend and sit next to Chandler. When he’s finished outside, go with Blaine into the hall and act like you’re supposed to be with him. Any questions?”_ said Wes.

Well that cleared that mystery up. “...No, no questions.”

Kurt ran his hand through his hair, a panicked habit he’d picked up from Rachel. For someone who claimed he'd hired Kurt to not be a distraction for Blaine, Wes was certainly taking a sudden U-turn. Straightening his back, Kurt thought back to what his dad had advised, that time Kurt called up for reassurance hours before his first big function with Vogue.

_‘It’s all about presence, kid. Walk in there with your head held high and them flashy folks will think you're meant to be there.’_

Kurt Hummel was nothing if not adaptable. He’d claim to be a friend as told, which Blaine and Kurt were. With a deep breath he trailed a few steps behind Blaine, and slipped his hand through the crook of his elbow when they had a free moment.

“Wes is making me be your plus one for the night,” he muttered.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away,” said Blaine with an easy smile.

“Keep it business, please,” said Kurt.

“Yes, dear.”

“I mean it. No touching. No veiled innuendos. No blatant innuendos. Wes will know if you're being inappropriate. He can hear you through this," Kurt gestured to the tiny microphone on his lapel. "I am here as a friend. If anyone asks, you went to school with me. And if Chandler or Sebastian try to talk to you, be brief and polite.”

“Am I allowed to have _any_ fun?”

Kurt rolled his eyes as an usher came to direct them to their seats.

[ ](http://imgur.com/O7UaSJx)

Kurt took the opportunity to gawp at the stunning auditorium of the Royal Albert Hall. It had been constructed for Prince Albert, Queen Victoria's late husband, back in the 1800s. Or so he’d read. Rows upon rows of seating curved around the edged of the stalls where they stood, with three more levels of seating in grand boxes framed by stone pillars facing the stage in a ring around them. He was so taken with the Henry Willis Organ and the glazed dome framed with wrought iron girders above them, that he didn't notice Blaine had stopped walking until he stumbled into him.

Confused by the hold up, Kurt followed his eye line and cursed under his breath. Jeremiah stood in the gangway to the left of the enormous stage, talking to a small group of admirers. The dirty blonde curls Kurt had expected were swept to the side, framing his grey eyes. It was no wonder he had become a heartthrob on a teen soap opera, really. He was the right kind of conventionally attractive.

“Blaine?” Kurt called quietly in his ear. “We’ve lost the usher.”

“Sorry… I saw someone.”

Blaine drew Kurt’s hand into his unconsciously and led him forwards again, eyes on the usher who was pointing at two seats in the middle of row D. Jeremiah looked over just as they reached their seats, and without thinking, before he could second guess himself, Kurt placed a small kiss on Blaine's cheek.

Blaine’s jaw dropped.

Ducking his head, Kurt brushed distractedly at his own reddened cheek. What on Earth had just possessed him?

“Sorry. With a bit of luck he’ll take the hint to leave you alone?” he explained unsurely.

Blaine’s mouth set in the shape of an O as he lowered into his seat, eyes flitting to Jeremiah in confusion. Before he could respond though, the lights dimmed and a deep voice announced the name of the host for the evening.

Chancing a glance at the boy to his right, Kurt startled to find Chandler Keihl already looking at him with obvious curiosity. Eyes back to the front, he tried to ignore him, but Chandler’s eyes remained. It was only when Kurt felt a hand squeeze his shoulder that he realized David was sat behind him. And that his shoulders were so high they were cuddling his ears; he dropped them.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Chandler said when the lights went up for the commercial break. He adjusted his thick rectangular glasses on his nose and leaned in uncomfortably close to Kurt, bouncing slightly in his seat. “I’m Chandler.”

“You haven’t been introduced because he’s none of your business,” Blaine bit.

Chandler’s ten watt smile dipped to a five. “Nice to see you too, Blaine,” he said. He held out his hand for Kurt to shake and, not knowing what else to do, Kurt took it hesitantly, if only to break the atmosphere which had grown thicker than his winter comforter.

“Kurt. I’m a friend of Blaine’s.”

“A friend? He finally found someone he couldn’t bend over then?” said Chandler cynically. 

"Unlike someone," Blaine muttered, just loud enough for Kurt to hear. His back was rigid, and the inside of his cheeks were being pulled between his teeth to hold back further verbal abuse. He only seemed to relax again when Kurt found his right hand with his left and squeezed at his fingers.

“I’m a friend from school,” Kurt lied hastily, flinching when a voice interrupted him in his ear.

 _"Wrap it up, Kurt,"_ Wes said.

Right, he’d forgotten about the earpiece in his left ear. Focus. Cordial but short. Neither Blaine nor Chandler noticed anything amiss with Kurt, their eyes trained coldly on one another.

“It was nice to meet you," Kurt said. "Good luck with your play.”

"You know about my play?" Chandler's eyes were bright all of a sudden and darting between Kurt’s own.

"Duh, theater follower," Kurt said. "I saw you in the Bugsy Malone revival a couple of years back. I was there the night Tallulah fell into the orchestra pit." It wasn’t a lie.

"Oh god, no!" Chandler flapped his hands in mortification. "That was my worst night, ever! You should totally come and see me in my new show when it opens. I can save you a seat and we'll get dinner and talk properly afterwards."

Someone (Trent, Kurt thought) coughed a laugh from Blaine's other side.

"Oh... no I," Kurt floundered. "We're flying to the US next week. But uh, thanks? I don't mean to be rude but I'm neglecting Blaine. It was nice talking to you."

Kurt faced Blaine again, who was looking between them like he wasn't sure if he should be amused Kurt had lied, or irritated he'd been ignored for a whole minute.

“Sebastian's staring over at you guys,” David murmured between them.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Blaine growled.

“Relax, I’m pretty sure Kurt’s not his type,” David reasoned.

“Erm, thanks?”

“That’s a good thing. You don’t want to be,” said Blaine darkly. "Or Chandler's, for the record."

The lights went down again. Kurt chanced a look back at Sebastian whose amused eyes were on the stage, the livid flare of Jeff’s nostrils the only evidence he’d probably had to endure a tedious conversation with him.

The rest of the interludes were fairly uneventful. Britain's Got Talent won the award for Favorite Reality Show, so when it turned out the boys’ performance was scheduled for just after that acceptance speech, it became a tribute to the show that had launched their career.

Kurt was usually too busy running errands backstage or off site to watch them perform, so getting to sit back and enjoy the spectacle was a welcome change for him.

The five Warblers were debonair and energetic, a flawless amalgamation of layered harmonies and charisma. Initially backed only by Nick on the acoustic guitar, Kurt sung along quietly to Made For Me, a gorgeous ballad from their first album. But then the tempo changed, Nick gave the guitar to a stage hand, and Kurt cheered with the rest of the crowd when he recognized the seamless transition into their latest number one hit, Do The Dance. 

"You have a lovely voice, Kurt," Chandler said in his ear, when The Warblers were taking their bows. "We should sing together sometime."

"Yeah. Maybe," Kurt said awkwardly, joining in with the standing ovation the audience were giving his friends, in a successful endeavor to drop the topic.

At the after party though, Kurt wasn’t so lucky; Blaine was pulled into conversation all over the venue, leaving Kurt to decline every offer of champagne, stay on the lookout for potential ex-boyfriends, and make small talk with those who deigned to address him. They only seemed interested in talking to him about Blaine, anyway.

“Oh, you knew him at school? Tell me, was he such a smooth operator even then?” One woman giggled over her champagne glass.

“Oh, you bet.” 

“I swear nowadays all I do is look through the gossip pages to see who his latest victim is,” another added.

Kurt laughed falsely with them and excused himself to grab a soda from the bar. “Not that it matters to you, you nosey bitches,” he huffed under his breath. He grabbed two straws from a tub on the side and took four large gulps.

“I’ve not seen you at one of these before.”

Kurt nearly choked on his last gulp. Jeremiah had slid into the space next to him, elbows against the bar, head cocked to observe Kurt.

“Oh,” Kurt fumbled, “well, it’s my first time to a UK function. I used to attend some in New York when I worked for Vogue.” Kurt internally congratulated himself for sounding credible. He’d read in Jeremiah’s biography that he was voted best dressed British male four years running and, well, if he was to look like he deserved Blaine's company, it couldn't hurt to throw that in.

Jeremiah nodded his approval. “So, Kurt Hummel…” His finger slid to Kurt’s sleeve and ran along the lining. Kurt pulled it away uncomfortably. “How do you know my ex?”

“School.”

“Really? He never mentioned you and we went out for nearly two years.”

He was testing. Luckily Kurt had already formulated a story. “I was only at Dalton for a year or so while my dad had business here. I’m just visiting and Blaine asked me to tag along.”

“Ah, so you’re…”

“Good friends.”

“Well, ‘Blaine’s good friend’, could I ask a teeny favor of you? You see, Blaine and I had a very… messy break-up,” Jeremiah said, his voice oily. “And I’ve been trying to make amends for a long time now. If I gave you a note to pass along to him, would you mind?”

This was not the direction Kurt thought this conversation was headed. He opened his mouth to decline, but Jeremiah had already pulled a white envelope from his inner jacket pocket and was sliding it into his hand, his other dragging up Kurt's forearm.

Jeremiah leaned over so his lips found Kurt’s ear. “Thanks, it means the world to me.”

Kurt felt a hundred spiders crawling up his spine, and he shuddered when Jeremiah slinked away into the crowd.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Nick asked from his other side.

“Jesus! What is it with you guys and sneaking up on me?” Kurt snapped.

Nick tapped his foot in wait of an answer.

Kurt held the envelope up. “He wants me to pass this along to Blaine. Should I give it to Wes?”

“Yes.”

Caught off guard by the abrupt answer, he allowed Nick to clap him on the back, pick up his drink along with a glass the barman handed over and carry them to a table the Warblers had acquired. 

“Kurt!” Blaine yelled, pulling him into the chair next to him. “You disappeared. Sorry about that. People, people, people. You have a drink? Great, me too, we have that in common.”

“…Yeah, I have a drink, buddy,” said Kurt. He cupped his hand and tilted it back and forth in silent question of Blaine’s sobriety.

David shrugged and mouthed, ‘Happy drunk’.

Ah, Kurt had only seen the puking-over-the-sidewalk drunk. And he wasn't keen on a repeat, so he took a jug of water from the table and filled a glass. Pressing it into Blaine’s hand. “I think you need some water.”

“I’m good.”

“No, drink it,” Kurt insisted.

“Fine.” Blaine rolled his eyes dramatically and downed the water.

Kurt poured him another glass and completely missed the astounded stares he was receiving from the band, David’s girlfriend Tina and Jeff’s brother, Jack. Which meant no one saw Sebastian, coming until his chair was wedged between Kurt and Blaine’s.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite lay ever.”

“We have very different memories of that night, Sebastian. Fuck off,” Blaine said, all joviality gone, like a stone cold bucket of water had been poured over him.

“Where the hell is Puck?” David growled.

“He’s currently planning a threesome with some lovely ladies across the room,” Sebastian said, not missing a beat. “Look, I’ll cut to the chase. This party is boring. No one has caught my eye tonight, and you so happen to be here, probably gagging for it considering you’ve not been in the papers lately doing the walk of shame.”

“Do you try and fuck all your friends’ exs?” Jeff asked coldly.

“Only if they’re hot,” Sebastian replied with a dismissive wave. “Blaine, you game?”

“No he’s not,” said Kurt coldly.

Sebastian turned and looked him up and down. “No offence, but I wasn’t talking to you, princess. I don’t like feminine men.”

“Well excuse me, _honey_ , I wasn’t coming onto you anyway,” Kurt said with a dismissive wave of his fingers. “And I think your view of femininity is a little skewed.”

“A little skewered?”

“Skewed,” Kurt corrected with an eye roll. “And here are a few other words for you to look up, you know, when you work out what a dictionary is: Ignoramus, numbskull and cretin.”

Trent choked on his drink and pressed his forehead to Nick’s shoulder. He shook with laughter.

“May I introduce Kurt Hummel? He’s a good friend of ours,” Blaine said. His cheeks were pinched in like he was trying not to laugh himself. He motioned at Kitty waving at them from the door. “And I believe our ride is here. It wasn’t so great seeing you.”

“You’re seriously trading me in for _that_?” Sebastian scoffed.

"Pretty much, Bas! Bye.”

The journey back to the hotel was a rowdy one, squeezed, four one side, for the other side, into the backseat of the car. Blaine’s thigh pressed tightly to Kurt's the whole way.

The singer’s fingers were a maddening distraction from the loud conversation around them, playing with the hair at the back of Kurt’s neck. Pleasurable shivers ran down Kurt’s spine. He did and didn’t want them to stop. And that in itself was a befuddling thing for Kurt, who had always been reticent to accept physical contact from other people, be they friend, family or boyfriend.

It was just the alcohol, he reminded himself. Blaine was drunk. And it didn’t matter how high the hairs on the back of Kurt’s neck stood to attention, because tomorrow Blaine would go back to floundering through every interaction in his bid for professionalism.

It’s was only when Kurt made it back to his hotel room, dazed and jittery, the white envelope sat on his bedside table that he realized something.

He’d never told Jeremiah his full name, and yet he’d known it. 


	10. A Conflict of Interest

The letter was sat on the side table in Kurt’s hotel room the following morning, the cursive script spelling out Blaine’s name visible from the bed. Kurt had been awake for over an hour, lost in thought about the curious envelope while the early morning sun peaked in past the curtains.

Bunching up his pillow, he burrowed his head into the plump material and huffed his frustration. He didn’t know what to do.

On the one hand, Jeremiah asked him to give the letter directly to Blaine, and while Kurt never said he would, it seemed rude to not do as asked. On the other hand, Kurt’s job the night before had been to keep Blaine away from his ex-boyfriends, so surely it would be best to give it straight to Wes? The responsibility would be out of Kurt’s hands then.

More pressing in Kurt’s mind was the itch to open and read the letter, find out what Jeremiah had to say.

“This is stupid,” Kurt said, and rolled onto his back. “It’s none of my business.”

And yet, something Quinn said was troubling him:

‘ _Blaine was pretty beat up about the break-up.’_

Would Blaine want to hear from someone who broke his heart? Would the letter convince Blaine to get back together with the actor? Everybody had noticed Blaine was in good spirits lately. Well, minus the issue he had with Kurt’s contract. Jeremiah could very well derail that progress.

His instinct was to call his dad and ask his advice, but from the sounds of it he already thought Kurt was too invested in Blaine’s life. Rachel would probably blab the information to someone in the cast of her latest play. Santana would tell him to read it and find Jeremiah’s Achilles heel. David, Trent, Jeff and Nick were too close to the situation. So who did that leave?

He picked up his cell phone from beside the letter and dialed Mercedes’ number. She had flown over a few days prior to prepare the guys for the NTAs now that their period of absence in the public eye was over. After a brief conversation, Mercedes hung up and soon was rapping her knuckles on Kurt's hotel room door.

“How long have you been working with the guys?” Kurt began when she’d settled on his bed.

“Two years next month. Why?”

Kurt fidgeted with the hem of his sleep shirt. “I was pretending to be Blaine’s plus one last night – there was a seating plan screw up – and at the after party, Jeremiah cornered me.”

“You mean, _Blaine’s_ Jeremiah?" Mercedes grimaced. "... _Oh_.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“Is that the problem? Baby, did he hurt you? Cos' if he did-”

“No,” Kurt assured her, startled she’d jump to that conclusion. He picked up the envelope and placed it between them on the bed. “He gave me this and asked me to pass it on to Blaine. And I don’t know-”

“- whether you should give it to Blaine, burn it, or let someone else know,” she concluded for him.

“Help me!”

She turned the envelope over in her hands, stroking her finger across the singer's name.

“Honestly? I wouldn’t give it to Blaine,” she said.

“Really?”

“Hell to the no. That man,” she shuddered. “I only ever caught snippets of the crap Jeremiah put Blaine through. You’d be amazed what people talk about in front of Sugar and I, when she’s doing their make-up and I'm dressing them. He wasn’t… good to Blaine. We were all kind of relieved when Jeremiah was caught with his dick up another guy’s ass.”

Mercedes gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide and panicked. “Please tell me you already knew about that?”

Kurt could only gawp at her. “…Okay, I already knew about that.”

“Damn!” Mercedes planted her face in the duvet. “Forget I said anything. I shouldn’t even know.”

“But how _do_ you know? Not even Quinn could tell me _that_ much.”

“Sugar’s got this way of getting people to talk to her." Mercedes' voice was muffled by the duvet. "And she nearly always blabs it to me after they’re gone, sometimes she doesn’t even wait. I think Jeff let the cheating information slip.”

“And the rest of it?”

Mercedes straightened up again and shook her head. “I’m sorry, baby; I shouldn’t have told you even one secret. Blaine might tell you eventually. Until then, just know that Jeremiah was never good for him. Don’t let him fool you with the nice-guy routine. He’s not.”

“Okay,” Kurt acquiesced, although ‘nice’ wasn’t the word Kurt would have used to describe Jeremiah last night. Oily, perhaps. Arrogant fit him nicely too.

“Aside from Jeremiah drama, how was the rest of the evening?” Mercedes asked. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you, I had to leave right after the guys performed.”

“It’s okay. The whole evening was really awkward though.” He wrinkled his nose. “Like, I was running after Blaine the entire time, trying to keep him away from all these guys I know he’s slept with. Which didn’t work because the seating plan was messed up. And then Chandler Keihl was hovering over me like a puppy, and that Sebastian guy tried to proposition Blaine at the after party, and with the Jeremiah thing too, it was just… tiring.”

“Sebastian Smythe was there?”

“Oh yeah,” Kurt griped. “That was a lovely encounter. The guy’s an actual asshole. He made me so angry my teeth hurt. You know what I mean?”

“He’s also the son of the CEO of Canary Records, so you might want to keep that opinion to yourself at the offices,” Mercedes warned.

Kurt’s mouth hung open in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I wish I was. Our lives would be a lot simpler if he wasn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Jonathan Smythe introduced Blaine to Sebastian,” she explained. Kurt leaned forward in his interest. “There was this big dinner a few years back that all of the artists signed to the label were invited to. Blaine and Sebastian were sat next to each other and they hung out a few times afterwards from what I can tell. Somewhere along the line Sebastian introduced Blaine to Jeremiah, and everything went to hell from there.”

“Sebastian knows Jeremiah?”

“Sebastian grew up with Jeremiah,” Mercedes corrected. “They’ve been best friends pretty much since birth.”

“But, Blaine’s slept with Sebastian, right?” Kurt said, trying to arrange this new information in an order that made sense. “That’s why I was trying to keep them apart last night. Was that before or after Jeremiah and Blaine were a thing?”

“Oh, that was definitely after.” Mercedes’ laugh was humorless. “It’s the one hook up I know Blaine is ashamed of. I don’t think he even remembers it. Blaine was drinking more after Jeremiah and he really can’t hold it. But the guys gave him so much shit for it for weeks after, and he’s never truly lived it down.”

“Sebastian hooked up with his best friend’s ex? What the hell kind of friend- actually, you know what, we shouldn’t be talking about this.” Kurt picked up the envelope and smoothed out a triangle that had folded over in the top left corner. “It’s Blaine’s business. I shouldn’t even be asking. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re right,” Mercedes agreed. “So about the letter…”

“You think I should give the letter to Wes,” Kurt summed up.

“I think that would be better, if it's not a conflict or anything,” Mercedes confirmed. “Have you read it?”

“No,” Kurt said. “It’s sealed and not addressed to me, so it wouldn’t be right.”

Mercedes surveyed him, her smile fond. “I see why...” she murmured to herself.

“See why, what?”

“Why he likes you,” she clarified. “I better go. The guys are on that late night talk show tonight to announce the next album’s release date. What's it called?"

"Alan Carr: Chatty Man," Kurt said, without even pulling up his schedule.

"I need them to choose something to wear. We’ve had a lot of designers sending their clothes for them, and I need to know which ones I need to send back sooner rather than later. Can you make sure they’re with me by 10.30, please?”

She kissed Kurt on the cheek when he nodded his assent and slipped from his hotel room. Kurt took a deep breath, the silence suddenly uncomfortable, like the walls were trying to listen as he dialed the number for Wes and held the phone to his ear.

"Hi, Wes. It’s Kurt. I've got something to give to you, and I don't think you're going to like it."

* * *

 Kurt heaved a sigh of relief when he finally shut Wes' hotel room door behind him. Who knew one tiny envelope could cause so much drama?

Thirty-three minutes he'd been questioned about the envelope: What had he been doing at the time it came into his possession? Why hadn't he brought it straight to Wes? Who else knew about it? Had he opened it? What had Jeremiah said?

"In exact details please. Full disclosure is imperative," Wes said.

Imperative? Anybody would think it was a national security issue, the way the manager was reacting. All Kurt knew for sure was that he'd had the overwhelming desire to scoff at the entire situation. Laugh. If for no other reason than to stave off his growing irritation.

Surely this was pointless mollycoddling? Blaine wasn’t a child anymore. He could look after himself and make grown up decisions. When were his team going to catch on to this?

Kurt decided to take the stairs back down to his room, in the hope the exercise would work off the irritable energy simmering beneath his skin. He heard the sniffling before he’d even rounded the corner and spotted her, Quinn, perched on the stairs just above his floor. She was hunched over her legs, iPhone clasped in front of her.

"Quinn?"

Quinn grasped at the handrail flanking the stairwell and hauled herself to her feet. Her hand swiped at her face distractedly, pink in the cheeks from being caught in a vulnerable state.

"Go away, Kurt," she said, and turned to climb up the stairs. Her heel caught on the edge of a step and she fell forwards, only just stopping herself whacking her chin on the steps with her hands flat against the wood.

"Woah woah, Quinn."

Kurt took the remaining stairs down two at a time to help her, but she tore away from his grip and stumbled up to the landing he'd come down from.

"Go away. You didn't see this," she hissed.

"No, no, of course not.” Kurt took another step down the stairs to reassure her. “I won't say a word."

She wiped at her bloodshot eyes again and smoothed her shoulder length golden hair back into place, readjusting the headband which kept her bangs out of her eyes. She nodded defiantly and turned to head round the corner.

"Quinn?" Kurt asked hesitantly

"What?"

"Are you okay?"

"Just peachy."

And then she was gone from his sight, heels clip clopping against the wooden stairs. Kurt continued on his way, mind buzzing with brand new questions. He spotted her iPhone from the corner of his eye, in the exact spot she'd been moments before.

Scooping it up, he was surprised to find that not only had it not locked itself, a picture was still on display. He made to shut the phone off but paused to study the little girl captured with a little smile. She couldn't be any older than five or six, with long blonde hair fashioned into two plaits. Ribbons tied them at the ends, framing her chubby, rosy cheeks. It struck him how oddly familiar her almond-shaped brown eyes were. Not that he could place them.

Beneath the picture was a simple message:

 _Look who misses you! - Beth_.

He carried the phone to his room, thinking it would only rile Quinn up if he followed after her now. Even to hand the phone back to her.

The message was from somebody called Shelby, so the picture had to be of Beth. Who was Beth to Quinn? Was she a mother? An aunt? An older sister? He knew so little about her outside of their work duties, he realized. Where in the US was she even from?

This is wrong. He shouldn’t be snooping, especially after he'd refrained from doing so to Blaine. She deserved the same courtesy. Locking the phone, he was considering how to return it to her without actually going up there, when someone banged on his door three times.

Puzzled, he peeked through the spyhole. It was Blaine.

“Hey,” Kurt said, opening the door. “I was just about to see if anyone could give this back to-”

“-Who the hell do you think you are?” Blaine snarled.

“I-” The hand holding the phone fell limply to his side. “What?”

“Next time you’re given a letter to pass onto me, hand it over to _me_! Messages from people I know in my personal life are nothing to do with my fucking team. Especially not Wes, Kitty, Quinn or anyone who works for Canary Records. Least of all, _you_.”

Kurt took a step back, frightened by the cold fury in Blaine’s eyes. They were almost black, the golden warmth he was used to twinkling back at him, barely rimming his pupils.

“Blaine, I-" Oh god, he was right. He was so right. "I'm sorry, I - I didn’t know what to do with it. Jeremiah didn’t give me a chance to refuse it and everyone told me to give it to Wes,” Kurt hurried to explain.

“And it didn’t occur to you that maybe that letter might have contained something I wouldn’t want them to see? Fuck, Kurt, if you had brains you’d be dangerous-” He cut himself off. “I can’t believe I thought I could trust you."

"You _can_ trust me!" Kurt said shrilly. "I took some bad advice. I didn't mean to upset you."  

Blaine shook his head at Kurt, shoulders slumped, fists clenched at his sides. "Just... stay away from me. If I need to be somewhere, send me a text.”

“Blaine, please…”

He wasn’t listening. As he watched Blaine stomp away and jam his finger into the elevator call button, Kurt slumped against the door frame and banged his head against the flat edge of the wood. He felt like he’d been slapped across the face. Hard.


	11. A Tense Silence

Kurt didn't realize how much he'd come to enjoy Blaine's company, until he was no longer there. Well, Blaine _was_ there – he was contractually obligated to show up at the places Kurt would be working – what with the amount of time spent ignoring his assistant's existence though, he may as well have not been.

Throughout the first week, Kurt assumed he’d let Kurt explain after cooling off. He was wrong.

Time soon ran away and two weeks rushed by without a cordial word between them. By the time Kurt’s alarm went off the Monday morning of week three, Kurt's concern had entirely fizzled out and he was just angry about the entire situation.

Yes, he had made a mistake. He'd blurred the line between personal and professional. Kurt was amazed Blaine hadn't tried to file a complaint against him, but Blaine hadn't been behaving anywhere near close to perfect either. There are nine-year-olds who would have handled this situation better than the nineteen-year-old had. So Kurt stopped trying to initiate conversation and went about his duties, forked tongue ready to strike anyone who pissed him off.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if the entire entourage didn’t have front row seats for the show. Kurt was in two minds about the situation. On the one hand the other Warblers filled the silences with their pranks, banter and energetic conversation. On the other though, Kurt hated for them to bear witness to the steady decline of his professional and personal relationship with Blaine.

 _Not that it was much before_ , a snide little voice told him from the back of his head.

No, he would have preferred solitude; suffering in silence and pretending his stomach didn't ache every time Blaine gave him one word answers, or walked by him without the lovely smile he'd grown fond of.

Kurt skipped through security at Heathrow the first Tuesday of May, because they were finally (finally!) headed back to New York, albeit for a week only. He'd take the rage of Santana Lopez, and scales performed at 5am by Rachel Berry, over another week of the cold shoulder from Blaine. No contest.

The apartment was dark when he pushed through the sliding front door at 2am. Forgoing his moisturizing routine, he flopped onto his bed after changing quickly into a pair of old sweats and fell asleep in seconds. Rachel squealed and jumped on him not long after 7am.

"You're back!"

"You suck!" Kurt moaned drowsily. "Sleep..."

"No way, I haven't seen you in two months. I missed you."

Kurt peeked through one eye at her sorrowful pout and buried his head in his pillow. "Five more minutes."

He felt the edge of his duvet lift and Rachel scramble under the covers. Tucking herself under his chin, she wrapped her arm over his torso and said, "Fine, but I'm counting."

He had one day off to tackle the jet lag and settle back into his apartment in Bushwick. Then he was due to herd the band to the Live with Kelly and Michael studios the following morning, to talk about the progress of their new album, announce the Fall release date, and plant the seed of a potential world tour next year. Taking full advantage of his rare freedom, Kurt spent the day catching up with the girls. Rachel had booked the day off from the theater and they spent a few hours in the diner Santana worked in, until she clocked out and joined them in the apartment. Takeout, snacks, facials and crappy rom-coms were on the agenda, perfect to forget all about Blaine Anderson. Rachel and Santana had other ideas though.

"I’ll admit, I hold a grudge better than anyone on this planet," Santana said through a mouthful of popcorn, "but even I think he's just being a fuckwit now."

"I guess," Kurt said tonelessly, watching Ewan McGregor try and fool Renee Zellweger into thinking he's a shy astronaut and not a lecherous journalist. "What's this movie called again?"

"Down With Love," Rachel said.

"Appropriate," he said. "The little action I'm getting these days, I should join that club."

"Sounds to me like you would be getting some on the regular if you hadn't signed that contract," Santana pointed out snidely.

"I would have to be interested for that to happen."

"Which, you are."

"No I'm not," he said through gritted teeth. "He's an immature jerk who's done nothing but make my life difficult from the moment I met him."

"Well, I can see why he'd be upset with you," Rachel reasoned. "What if it was a love note? Those things are private. Or perhaps his and Jeremiah's relationship drama is smoke and mirrors to hide a dastardly plot. What if his life will be in danger if anybody discovers the details of that note?"

"Do you hear yourself when you talk, drama queen?" Santana asked with an eye roll.

Rachel shot Santana a withering look. "I’m just saying, there’s something kinda’ shady about it. I didn’t even know Blaine had ever _had_ a boyfriend, let alone the guy’s name. I’ve never read an article about Blaine that mentions a Jeremiah.”

“There isn’t?” Kurt raised his eyebrows. “You sure?”

“Positive,” Rachel confirmed. “Not even a confirmed friendship. So clearly one or both of them didn’t want the world to know they were together.”

Huh. Kurt hadn’t looked too closely at media articles about Jeremiah, so he’d never thought to see who he was publicly linked with. Someone would have told Kurt if it was important though, right?  

“Have you tried to make it up to him?" Santana asked.

"Yes!" Kurt exclaimed. "I baked him cookies and he gave them to the homeless guy outside Earls Court station.” He rolled his eyes when Rachel held her hand to her heart and cooed at the admittedly thoughtful gesture. “I made him a muffin basket and Jeff and Nick scoffed the lot -"

"Are there any gestures that don't involve food?" Santana side-eyed him.

"I cleared his schedule and booked him in for a massage at the hotel. Not even a thank you. I didn't tell Wes when he got trashed at a party and turned up for rehearsal four hours late. Every time I've tried apologizing and explaining myself, he just ignores me and tells me to, and I quote," Kurt puts on a gravelly English accent, "' _Bother someone else with your excuses_.'"

"Look, Hummel, he's gotta' get over it some time. Just let him have his temper tantrum and eventually he'll realize he's being a fucker and come back," Santana said.

"You think so?"

"Sure,” she said, and caught another piece of popcorn in her mouth. “How else is he supposed to convince you to sit on his dick, if he doesn't talk to you?"

Rachel threw her head back and cackled. Kurt pelted Santana with pillows. His phone buzzed with a new message.

**Unknown (21:27): Hi Kurt! It’s Chandler. We talked at the NTAs? I know you’re in New York right now, but let me know when you come back to London.**

Kurt blinked at the text a few times. Yes, he had read that right. 

**Kurt (21:29): Hi… how did you get my number?**

**Chandler (21:30): I asked for it. I hope that wasn’t weird. It wasn’t, right?**

_No, not weird at all,_ Kurt thought. How did Mr. Stalker even remember him? The NTAs were nearly a month ago. Who the hell did he know who…? Kurt clasped his phone tightly in his hand.

“I’m going to kill him!”

* * *

Kurt arrived at the Live with Kelly and Michael studios with barely 20 minutes to spare, after he’d overslept by 45 minutes. Hurrying into the dressing room assigned to the Warblers, his relief that they’d all turned up was short lived when he zeroed in on the source of his sleepless night.

“BLAINE!”

Blaine, who was lounging on a dark brown leather sofa, looked him in the eye for the first time in three weeks, stunned Kurt was addressing him with more than a mumbled request.

“Why the hell have I been getting text messages from Chandler Keihl?” Kurt demanded.

Blinking his confusion at the accusation, Blaine’s mouth twisted up into a smirk. “Oh that. You’re welcome.”

“ _You’re welcome_?” Kurt hissed. “I’ve had 45 text messages from him since last night.” His phone buzzed in his back pocket. “Make that 46. If I wanted him to have my number I would have given it myself. You had no right to do that.”

Blaine crossed his arms over his chest, hazel eyes dark and considering. “So, kind of like you had no right to give my letter away?”

Kurt gaped at him. “Are you telling me you gave it away to- to what, even the score? There’s a big difference between making a mistake and deliberately invading someone’s privacy.”

"Personal details _aren’t_ free to give away willy nilly?” Blaine said with exaggerated slowness. “Wow, my mistake.”

“Oh my god… just- just grow up!” Kurt yelled. Tears of frustration in his eyes.

“What's the problem? At least what I did might get you laid,” Blaine snapped. “He fucks like a Chihuahua on acid, but it’ll make a nice change from the drought you’ve been having. It’s like your legs have been welded shut.”

“Shut up, Blaine!” Nick growled. 

Blaine's head snapped to the side and he surveyed the room, clearly having forgotten they weren’t alone. Jeff looked between them with wide eyes. David, Trent, Nick and even Kitty were glaring at Blaine.

“Whatever.” He lifted his hands in mock surrender and pushed past Kurt.

“Kurt?” Jeff took a step closer, his face unusually somber.

Kurt shuddered out a breath and quietly, with as much dignity as he could muster, opened the door and closed it gently behind him. His phone buzzed again.

**Chandler (08:24): Morning sunshine!**

**Chandler (08:35): Are you awake?**

**Chandler (08:42): Did you get my last text?**

* * *

The interview and performance went off without a hitch, and thankfully no one would have guessed there was any ill feeling between the boys. Kurt did his best to avoid being alone with any of them for the remainder of the day, until David caught him in an elevator and convinced Kurt to go out for a drink with him.

“I don’t understand why he’s so upset with me?” Kurt admitted when they’d settled in at a karaoke joint halfway between The Warblers current hotel and Bushwick. “Everybody else told me not to give it to him. I was just doing what I was told.”

David turned his body to give Kurt his full attention.

“I think that might be the problem,” David began. “Blaine, he… we’ve got a lot of people making decisions for us all the time. Some of them are dumb decisions. Our personal lives, for example? In an ideal world who we date would mean nothing to what we do for a living. We don’t live in that world though and Blaine resents the fact that Canary Records and our publicists have so much control over his personal life."

"How much control?" Kurt asked. He sipped at his mojito, eyes trained on David in intrigue.

"Well, there's the fairly minor things like cussing in public; stuff that could make us seem like bad role models for young fans, and then there's the bigger stuff like dictating who we can and can't be seen with, altering our family history to fit the prep school image. That sort of thing."

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "They can do that?"

"And then some. Do you know much about Jeff's family?"

Kurt shook his head.

"His dad is a builder and his mum's a primary school teacher. I think your equivalent is elementary school? Anyway, Dalton is recognized as this Specialist Music Institution. Jeff’s parents paid what little they could towards music lessons when he was a kid, but Jeff really wanted to go to Dalton after primary school. They couldn't afford the tuition, but he was so gifted in music, he was offered a scholarship for the music program when he was twelve. Our old PR rep made Jeff glaze over that detail because, quote: 'your family doesn't fit with your image'."

"He _what_? That's absurd!" Kurt exclaimed. "He's a role model. My dad's a mechanic and my stepmom is a nurse. It would have been amazing to have someone like Jeff to look up to when I was a kid."

"Try telling Hunter that," David said bitterly. “He wanted us to be the prep school One Direction, the Made in Chelsea* of boy bands.”

"Hunter?"

"Our former PR rep," David clarified. "It’s not just Jeff. Tina and I have been together for five years, but as far as our fans know, I've been single the entire time I've been in the public eye. All because Hunter wanted us all to 'seem attainable'."

"How does Tina feel about that?"

David tilted his head down and looked up at Kurt as if to say, _really_?

"That's awful."

"That's showbiz," David grumbled. "As for Blaine, well, it’s a miracle he’s even allowed to be ‘out’ publically. The only reason that happened is because Wes is a cunning bastard when he wants to be, and managed to convince the record company that it wouldn’t damage our success. Well, that and he hoodwinked Hunter.” He took a swig of his lager and took a look around the bar to make sure no one was paying them any attention. "Did anyone tell you why we severed ties with our last PR firm?"

"No."

"Hunter had it in for Blaine. He spent more time trying to cover up Blaine's sexuality, than he did promoting the band," David explained. "He was convinced that girls wouldn't buy into our brand if our lead singer was gay."

"When did Blaine come out?" Kurt asked. There was mostly mushed up ice in his glass now, and he swirled it with his straw.

David leaned closer, voice lowered.

"He's been out for as long as I've known him. Blaine was upfront about his sexuality before we even signed our record deal. But then we made the mistake of signing with Carmel Public Relations and Hunter tried to force him back into the closet. Jeff and I are good liars when we have to be, but Blaine? He's transparent. His mouth can be saying one thing, and his doe eyes give away the truth. It was too bigger lie for him and it was making him miserable, so Wes went behind Hunter's back. When we were on the Ellen Degeneres Show a couple of years ago, he asked Ellen to bring up our relationship statuses."

"I remember that," Kurt gasped. "She asked if you had girlfriends. Right?"

"Yeah, that was Wes' idea. Hunter had given Ellen's team the standard list of subjects she could and couldn't bring up in the interview, so she couldn't outright ask if any of us were gay, but there was nothing wrong with asking us a generic question about our 'girlfriends'. So Blaine 'accidentally let the word boyfriend slip'," he made bunny ears with his fingers. "The fans lost their shit when the interview aired, and guess what? Our fan base doubled from all the publicity."

"Hunter was furious." David grinned, relishing the memory. "Canary Records weren't happy about it either at first, but they changed their tune when our album jumped to number one on the US Billboard chart. It's amazing what an increase in sales can do to a label's perspective. That didn't stop Hunter trying to control Blaine though."

"What did he do?" Kurt asked.

"He decided to make sure Blaine didn't come across ‘too gay’ in the media. By that point though we we're all certain it wasn't for the good of the band. We think he was just pissed off that Blaine came out behind his back, and decided to make his life difficult."

"But why?"

"Because Blaine made him look like an idiot. Wes had found a loophole in our contract that meant Blaine couldn't be prosecuted for outing himself. We went on our world tour and everything seemed okay for a while. But when we returned to London everything went to hell. Hunter amped up the gay-but-straight charade with Blaine, and then Blaine broke up with Jeremiah, and I think the combination of the two things made him snap and start rebelling."

"Promiscuous Blaine started," Kurt surmised.

"Bingo."

"So what happened with Hunter?" Kurt asked.

"There wasn't a lot we could do about him until the contract ended back in December,” David said. “We didn't renew it and parted ways."

"And you signed with the new firm in March." Kurt carried on.

The pair of them winced when an inebriated man stepped up to the microphone on the small stage in the corner, attempting to out-sing Freddie Mercury in Bohemian Rhapsody.

"We wanted to make sure whoever we signed with this time, wouldn't force us to tell any lies we don't choose for ourselves," David said, leaning into Kurt's ear so he could be heard. "With Kitty, we have it in writing that she has to run all ideas by us first."

"Kitty agreed to all that?" Kurt asked, surprised.

"She's a scary person, but her approach is more relaxed than Hunter's. He was smothering the real us. She wants to merge the real us with our public persona to take us forward. We need someone like that. There's always someone trying to control everything around here. Blaine more than any of us. And to be frank, it pisses him off.”

Kurt nodded thoughtfully. It was a lot of information to take in.

“Now about Blaine's latest meltdown, I think your contract put him on the edge and the letter from Jeremiah sent him head first over it,” David continued, unaware Kurt was lost in thought.

"I still don't understand how he reacted about my contract," Kurt admitted. "Every job I've ever had says that affairs between employers and employees are big no no's. The way he reacted, it's like he didn't know?"

"He probably didn't," David said. "Blaine's always been pretty sheltered from reality. He's got this disarming charm that's always got him out of trouble. The teachers at Dalton loved him. He could climb on the furniture and they'd give him a half-hearted telling off."

Kurt laughed at the image that conjured in his mind.

"But it means his perception of responsibility is a little bit... unrealistic," David said.

"That's a very light way of putting it," Kurt mused.

"Look, being in a band is sometimes like living under a different set of rules," David defended. "We all took advantage of the perks offered to us in the beginning and Wes made excuses for us when we misbehaved. Somewhere along the line the rest of us calmed down, while Blaine went on this weird alternative personality spiral. He took it too far, and Wes is under a lot of pressure to control him now. That letter you gave to Wes, I don't know what it was about... but if you had come to me for advice, I would have told you to give it to Blaine.”

“Why?” Kurt whispered.

David tapped his nail against the bar thoughtfully. “Before you were hired we were at the end of our tether with him. People were talking more about him and his behavior than the band and the music. He was just being a selfish dick as far as we knew and we all thought it was just post break-up rebellion. And it made no sense. Jeremiah was just one guy. Why did Blaine let their sham of a relationship alter his whole personality? He- he became this _idiot_ who turned up to work late; leered at everyone he was attracted to and didn’t watch how careless he was with the media. That's not the Blaine I knew growing up, you know?"

David took another swig. "It’s only in the last couple of months that I’ve realized it’s not Jeremiah he was reacting to. Acting out has been his way of flipping off the people telling him not to be ‘too gay'."

David's eyes rested on the varnished wood in front of them, eyes faraway, thoughtful.

"I was harsh on him,” he continued. “I’ll admit that. I should have tried harder to understand, but you saw what he was like when you arrived. We’d had that version of Blaine for the better part of a year.”

Kurt nodded. He hadn’t been very patient with that version of Blaine either. He'd judged him before they’d even met.

"He wants control back. He wants people to leave him be. He wants someone to put him first and his image second.”

“So what’s changed? You said you _were_ at the end of your tether with him,” Kurt asked. “Why not now?”

David hesitated. “You turned up,” he admitted. “You… you don’t take any crap from him, but you listen. You make decisions that risk overstepping, but give him what he wants – what _we_ want – instead of what the people in charge demand. People rarely do that for us unless they get something in return.”

“The photos at the CD signing,” Kurt realized aloud.

David shook his head. “Not just then. Before, the day he went missing in New York?”

Kurt frowned. “But, I was acting on Quinn and Wes’s orders.”

“You offered to quit and not come with us, because he said he didn’t want to go home if you were around. He told me about that.”

Kurt's stomach squirmed at the memory. “He was so drunk that night I thought he’d forgotten,” he said.

“He hasn’t. So, can you see why he’s upset with you? He thought you were on his side."

"I am on his side!" Kurt exclaimed.

"The contract he could let go, because you signed that before you knew him," David cut over Kurt and held eye contact firmly, imploring him to listen. "But you gave the letter to Wes instead of Blaine. Wrong or not, in his eyes you didn’t trust him to have that control of his own personal life. I guess he felt kind of betrayed.”

“But that still doesn’t explain why he’s so upset with me _specifically_ ," Kurt said. "From where I'm standing, everyone around here hides things from him. Why is he more hurt by _me_ than anyone else on this team?”

Tilting his head to the side, David smiled sadly at him. “You really have no idea how Blaine looks at you, do you?”

Kurt’s heart pumped at a doubled speed. “No, no, don’t do that."

"Kurt-"

"-He just wants a leg over. He likes the banter,” he fumbled.

“Okay, yes, he does want to have sex with you,” David conceded.

Kurt's jaw dropped.

“What? He does! Sometimes his dick dominates his brain. If I'm being honest though." David leaned in and Kurt mirrored him. "I’ve never seen Blaine look at anyone or act the way he does when he’s with you.”

“Flirtatious? Crude?”

“Gentle,” David said. “Jeremiah hurt him badly, but Blaine's feelings were never _that_ strong. He thought he was in love, but I think it’s his pride that was wounded. Why do you think the contract upset him so much? It’s not just about control of his life, it’s the fact that he can’t have _you_. He’s not allowed to act on his feelings without risking your job and hurting _you_.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Kurt moaned. “Even if I did feel the same way – I'm not saying I do – he’s out of bounds. How am I- do you have any idea how awkward this is?”

“Like it wasn’t before?” David snorted. “Watching the Klaine dance has been painful from day one.”

“You did not just give us a ship name,” Kurt’s voice was low, disbelieving.

David rolled his eyes. “Look, find a way to gain his trust back. Talk to him. He’s calmed down a lot since February and I’m positive that’s down to you, man. You’re a good influence on him.”

“I think you give me too much credit,” Kurt said uncomfortably.

David smiled fondly. “You guys will be fine, okay? He likes you too much to stay mad. Oh, and for the record, Jeff gave Chandler your number. He thought it would be funny after the whole leaving him handcuffed thing.”

And with that David turned to the barman and ordered another lager, the subject dropped.

Kurt felt like a prize idiot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Made in Chelsea is a UK reality show about a group of young socialites who live the high life in London. Most of them are the sons and daughters of successful entrepreneurs or aristocrats.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, reviewing and offering kudos for this story so far. I really appreciate the encouragement. I'm sorry it's such a slow burner at the moment, but bear with the boys. They'll get there.


	12. An Unexpected Olive Branch

The weather in London was trying its hardest to warm up. Not that its population were optimistic of this progress. While the sun was usually nearing unbearable by the time May came around in New York and Ohio, the British knew better than to trust the weather forecast. You could tell the natives from the tourists by who didn’t have an umbrella at hand at the first sign of drizzle, leaving the visitors drenched and running for cover.

Kurt was glad to have learned this lesson early on as he walked, umbrella in hand, from the tube station to the Canary Records offices. The rain had come without much warning after a dry spell, covering the city in the pitter patter of droplets on the stone sidewalk (or ‘ _pavement’_ , as he’d been told over and over, until the gang were lucky he hadn’t walloped them over the head with the American dictionary). Rain was every fashionable man’s nightmare.

Despite the weather, Kurt’s mood had improved drastically since returning from New York. The week at home had done him the world of good, and while Blaine had gone back to ignoring his existence, getting himself caught tumbling out of pubs and bars by paparazzi; Kurt was determined to stop letting it affect him.

Kurt's phone rang in his pocket as he reached the fourth floor of the building, headed to yet another meeting between The Warblers and a group of talking heads in stiff suits, ‘discussing’ the band’s next move. Kurt was only required to get coffee and set up the app to record everything said.

He smiled at his stepmother’s name flashing back at him on the phone’s interface.

“Carole? Hi, what are you doing up, isn’t it like 2am there?”

 _“Honey, I’m going to need you to sit down,”_ she said in lieu of a greeting.

Her voice was calm and soothing. Too calm and soothing, actually. Kurt wanted nothing more than some inflection of emotion. Nurses training had kicked in though, her bedside manner like a second skin.

His father had been working late at the tire shop when the heart attack struck. It wasn't severe like the one Burt suffered Kurt’s junior year of high school, but enough to warrant a trip to the emergency room. Scary enough for the doctors to keep him sedated for the time being, while they worked out the exact cause.

 _“No, you shouldn’t come home,”_ she said. _“He’s going to be fine. The diet we’ve had him on has put him in a much better place this time around. And you have responsibilities.”_

“But-”

_“Your father is the strongest man I have ever met, honey. He survived cancer. He’s not leaving us any time soon.”_

Kurt didn’t listen. He ended the phone call quickly, making sure Carole promised to call him about any changes the moment she knew them. Not a second later.

Only when he’d hung up the phone, did he stop fighting the ache in his jaw. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. Blindly, he found his way back down the corridor and through the fire escape that led to a spiral staircase.

He was helpless. That’s the only way he could describe the ache in his gut, the itch in his fingers to do something. Anything.

It was bad enough knowing something could happen to his father when he was in New York. Now he had an entire ocean between them. What if Carole was playing it down and it really was as bad as the first time? What if his condition worsened and he didn’t have enough time to catch a flight to Ohio? What if his dad was asking for him?

Kurt crouched low on the floor and held his stomach, gasping for breaths he couldn’t draw in fast or deep enough.

What would he do without his daddy?

His sobs grew in volume, noisy and unrestrained, forehead rested on his knees. Tears dripped down the edge of his nose. Anybody could have walked by at any moment, but he was beyond caring, his mind trapped in an uncertain future that might not include his father.

Somewhere in the background he heard the door to the fire escape open. A voice he recognized said, “Kurt?”

Blaine tucked his phone into his back pocket and crouched beside Kurt, his hand gently running through Kurt’s hair. It made him cry harder.

"Hey, hey. Look at me," Blaine said. He placed his fingers either side of Kurt's jaw and gently guided his head up. His eyes were wide and concerned, searching Kurt's face for a clue. "Are you okay?"

Kurt's chin trembled under Blaine's soothing, guitar calloused fingers, but even as he blurted out, "Dad," in answer, he couldn't help but wonder why Blaine was comforting him.

Weren't they still fighting?

"Your dad? Okay, I- what happened? Is he okay?"

"I don't know," Kurt sobbed. "Heart attack."

"Heart attack? Okay. Well no, not- shit… do you need to go home?" Blaine floundered.

"Carole said, she said- she said don't- but I- I can't- I don't know if he's- if he's okay, and-"

"No, no, okay. Come with me. We'll go somewhere more private and we'll sort this out. Come on," Blaine said.

He helped pull Kurt to his feet and tugged on his hand. Kurt followed, blinking fresh tears from his eyes. Blaine steered him through a door and shut it behind them, settling Kurt down on a sofa. Then he knelt before him and wiped his thumbs gently under Kurt's eyes. His lips turned up at the edges sadly.

"Sit here and I'll be right back. Okay?"

Kurt nodded, head bowed. Only when Blaine had made a quick exit from the room, did he realize he'd been pulled into an empty meeting room. Ahead of him was a long oak conference table with eight chairs on either side and a white projection board on the far wall. Blinds covered the windows, hiding the fourth floor view of London below them; bustling, heaving with people going about their business, oblivious to the inner turmoil of the people around them.

If there was one thing he disliked about London, it was how distant people could be.

Ten uneventful minutes went by before he heard Blaine's voice again, and when the singer walked back into the conference room, his phone was held to his ear. He beckoned for Kurt to follow him out of the door, concentrating on whatever the guy on the other end was saying. They seemed to come to an agreement just as Blaine opened the door to a silver Jaguar, allowing Kurt to slide into the back, and following him into the backseat. The driver pulled away.

"Where are we going?" Kurt asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Back to the hotel," Blaine said. "Mercedes is bringing a bag of your belongings out to the car and then we're headed to Heathrow."

Kurt stared at the profile of Blaine's face in confusion. "But, I haven't booked a flight home. And I've got work to do. I haven't even talked to Wes about what's happened. I can't just up and leave like that!"

"Yes you can because I've told him what's happening," Blaine dismissed, and tapped out a text message. "And you do have a flight home."

"...What?"

"It's taken care of. You're going home. And you're not coming back until you're sure your dad is okay. Quinn’s hiring a temp to manage our diaries while you’re away."

"...Wait, you said 'we'. _We_ are going to Heathrow?"

For the first time since Blaine found him by that stairwell, he seemed uncomfortable, looking at his fingers, fascinated with the way they turned his phone this way and that.

"Blaine?"

"Um, yeah, so... I'm coming with you?" His cheeks were pink and he rushed to explain. "Look, I know you probably don't want me there, but it's not a good idea to leave someone alone like this and it's a long flight, plenty of time to work yourself up. If nothing else I can be a distraction. If - if you want?"

Kurt held his hand up to silence him and nodded, smiling softly. It was an unexpected olive branch Blaine was holding out, but one he was more than willing to accept. He was so tired of the fighting.

They didn't speak for the rest of the journey, save for brief words exchanged with Mercedes when they pulled up to the hotel. She threw two bags into the trunk of the Jaguar and gave Kurt a bone crushing hug. And then they were speeding towards Heathrow, the traffic oddly quiet for a weekday in London.

The car was being led to a back entrance into the airport and cruising towards the small private plane they often used, when Kurt placed his palm over the back of Blaine's hand.

Blaine raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Thank you."

* * *

Twelve and a half hours later Kurt was peering through a window into his father’s room at Lima Memorial Hospital. Flashing back to the last time his father had been admitted here. Kurt had been seventeen, dealing with the possibility his dad wouldn’t wake up.

Fast forward five years and his condition was less severe. He knew that. Knowledge of this kind never lessens the ache of foreboding possibility, the throb of an anxious heart used to pain.

Kurt drew strength from Blaine's hand against his shoulder, breathed deeply, and walked into the room. He accepted a hug from Carole, though he barely felt it; his limbs were too numb. Fixing his eyes on his father’s face grimly, Kurt sighed his relief when his dad peered curiously at him through heavy eyelids. Tubes were running up his nose, the crooks of his elbows bruised from unsuccessful attempts to insert the drip through his skin (The nurses had resorted to piercing a vein in his left hand), his skin was pale and parchment rough, dark shadows stark beneath his eyes.

No, you never got used to this. Carole left the room and he took the seat she’d vacated.

“Kurt?”

“Yeah, Dad, it’s me.”

“Shoulda’ known you wouldn’t stay away,” he croaked.

“As if.” Kurt scoffed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a truck took the wind out of my sails.”

Kurt cocked his head. “How does that work? Trucks wouldn’t float on water.”

“Alright, smart ass,” Burt said, and lifted his hand for Kurt to take. “Who’s that?” He was looking through the window at a politely smiling Blaine, deep in conversation with Carole.

“Oh, that's Blaine,” Kurt said. His cheeks felt warm in the stuffy room. “He figured I’d work myself up if I didn’t have someone to distract me.”

“Oh yeah. Didn’t recognize him with the curls.”

Blaine chose that moment to look through the window and catch Kurt’s eye. He offered a sweet crooked smile and put his thumbs up questioningly. Kurt nodded in answer.

Burt smirked. “He looks different from his pictures. Help me out here.” He lifted himself up on his pillows. Kurt jumped up to rearrange them behind his head. “He’s right though, you woulda’ done that.”

“So what’s the prognosis?” Kurt asked.

“I’ll live,” Burt said. “I have to take it easy though. I’m not allowed back at work for six weeks.”

“And…?”

“And nothing.”

“Dad,” Kurt warned.

Burt crossed his arms over his chest, mumbling. “Fine… and no junk food, or red meat, or beer, or any of the good stuff.”

“Good.”

That earned Kurt a scowl. “How long you back for?” Burt asked.

“Undetermined.”

“Kurt.” It was Burt’s turn to chide his son. “I’m fine. You can’t put your life on hold every time I get a sniffle.”

“How does a sniffle compare to a heart attack?” Kurt asked.

“Not the point. You can stay until I’m discharged, but after that you’re going back to wherever those Warbler guys are. And you’re going to reach for them stars. Got it?”

Sighing, Kurt examined his cuticles stubbornly, unwilling to fight with his father.

“Got it,” he conceded. “Now scoot over.”

Burt did as told, slowly and carefully. Kurt climbed onto the bed and wrapped his dad up in a loose hug. Twenty-two he may be, but he’s not too old for this.

* * *

Despite seeing with his own eyes that his father was okay, Kurt didn't sleep well that night. The bed in his old room was unfamiliar now, lumpy in places his mattress in New York wasn't, and it seemed he'd grown accustomed to the comfort of expensive London hotels on top of that.

Evidence of the rising sun streaked through the drawn curtains and Kurt resigned himself to crashing sometime in the afternoon, the victim of jet lag and pulsing adrenaline. Sitting up, he peeped a look over the side of the bed and smirked at Blaine, curled up under a grey blanket, on the fold-up mattress Carole had found in her converted craft room. The snoring wasn't loud, exactly, more a gentle snuffle which occasionally gurgled in the back of his throat. Kurt probably wouldn't have even noticed if he wasn't listening for it.

He watched for a few minutes. Peaceful wasn't a word Kurt associated with Blaine. Complicated, energetic, bad-tempered, sweet, playful – they made sense. Peaceful, not so much. Not with his lifestyle, jumping from country to country, bed to bed, studio to studio.

Peaceful did _suit_ him though.

Blaine shifted onto his side and blinked his eyes open. "Hey," he mumbled and smacked his lips. "What time is it?"

"The sun's not been up long," Kurt said. He wrapped his duvet over his knees and propped his head on them. "I couldn't sleep."

"Because you couldn't turn your mind off, or because I snore?" Blaine asked.

"Oh, you're aware of that?" Kurt teased.

Blaine chuckled. "A couple of people have said it. Trent complains the most."

"It wasn't keeping me up," Kurt assured him.

“Good. How you holding up?” Blaine asked.

Kurt puffed a weary breath, mind wandering back to his father. "I know I've seen him. I know he's okay, but I can't stop… worrying."

"That’s understandable. He’s your dad. It’s your job to worry."

“Don’t tell my dad you said that.” Kurt smiled and shook his head fondly. “He’s always said it was his job to worry about me, not the other way around. Which is kind of hard to live by when stuff like this keeps happening every two or three years.”

“Carole said something about prostate cancer,” Blaine said cautiously.

“Yeah, that was the health scare when I was nineteen. He was in a coma after a heart attack when I was seventeen. Now this when I’m bordering on twenty-three. I feel like every time I think things are looking up, I get smacked across the face with a cruel reality check.”

Blaine stayed silent, snuggled beneath his blanket, intelligent enough to know Kurt was sounding off and did not require a dialogue. 

"Thanks for keeping me company," Kurt said after a brief silence.

Blaine tried to protest.

"No, I mean it. We've not exactly been on good terms. You didn't have to help me. So, thanks."

"Kurt." Blaine sat up and Kurt averted his eyes, a blush rising to his ears when he realized Blaine was clad only in boxer shorts. The trail of hair below his navel made Kurt feel a little dizzy, and it was with great effort that his eyes lifted to Blaine’s face. "Just because I was mad at you, doesn't mean I stopped caring."

"You care about me?"

Blaine swallowed thickly. "Yeah, of course I do..."

Kurt picked at a hole in his duvet, nonplussed. "Well, I - I mean, we've not exactly known each other long, and I figured I wasn't high on your list."

"Right... yeah I- I guess I could see why you'd think that." Blaine ruffled his own hair with a guilty sigh. "Kurt, I'm sorry."

"Blaine, don't-"

"No please, I need to get this out. I'm sorry I was so horrible to you. I'm sorry about what I said in that dressing room. That was out of line. I'm sorry I've been avoiding talking to you. And I'm sorry I've dragged this out so long."

"Blaine, it's okay."

"No, it's not. I completely overreacted," Blaine exclaimed, forgetting himself a moment. He closed his eyes and gentled his voice. "You didn't deserve any of that. I should have just manned up and accepted your apology weeks ago. I hate being mad at you. I'm not anymore. I was just being stubborn."

"Yeah, me too," Kurt admitted. "And while we're on the subject of apologies, I'm sorry I yelled at you about the Chandler thing."

"Oh... no, no.” Blaine cleared his throat. “It's fine. I know I shouldn't have done that either."

"Cover for Jeff and take the blame? Yeah, you really shouldn't have."

"I'm sor- wait, what?"

"I know Jeff did it." Kurt smiled sheepishly at his lap. "He told me. Well, David told me, and then I held Jeff’s balls in a vice until he fessed up and called Chandler off for me."

Blaine sniggered. "... Oh."

"I'm sorry I assumed it was you. It just... made sense I guess.”

“It's fine.” Blaine smiled up at him reassuringly.

Kurt slid off the bed and sat himself opposite Blaine on the floor mattress. “So are we okay?” he asked hopefully.

Blaine answered with a hug around Kurt’s waist, chin hooked over his shoulder. “We’re okay,” he confirmed. “Just… next time someone gives you something for me, please don’t hand it off to Wes.”

“Deal,” Kurt said. He’d learned his lesson there.

Kurt entertained the idea of asking Blaine about Jeremiah, but thought better of it. And the thought slipped his mind entirely when a gentle kiss was pressed to Kurt's forehead.  Caught off guard by the tenderness, Kurt’s mouth opened and closed, unable to find a dry comment to brush the moment aside.

Something David said came to mind: _'I’ve never seen Blaine look at anyone or act the way he does when he’s with you.'_

"So what's the plan for today?" Blaine asked, snapping Kurt back to attention. "Because I have a proposition?"

"Oh?" Kurt raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"The hospital won't let us back in until visiting hours, so we have several options. You can... show me around your home town." Kurt pulled a face. "We can go to the mall and risk being noticed by Warbler fans." Kurt scowled at the thought. "Or, we can go see a crappy movie. Your choice." Blaine lay back down and awaited Kurt's answer. 

“How is a movie theater less public to you than the mall?”

“I go to the cinema all the time back home.”

“On your own?” That seemed a bit risky to Kurt.

“If I fancy the quiet time, yes. They’re dark. People are less likely to notice me. And anyway if someone does recognize me, you can step in,” Blaine reasoned with a teasing smile.

He had a point there.

"Movie it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty overwhelmed by the positive response I've had for this story. You guys are amazing. Thank you for reviewing and giving kudos.


	13. Hospitals, Pants, and Coffee Cups

Burt was kept in the hospital for a further five days to monitor his condition. Kurt was signed off duty until his return to the UK, but Blaine was constantly being brought into band discussions via Skype calls.

"He never looks happy when he comes back," Carole noted on day two, after Blaine had excused himself from Burt's room in Lima Memorial Hospital to answer another call.

"There's always something," Kurt said absently. He clucked at his dad to lift his head.

"Kurt, if you adjust the pillows one more time, I'm sending you home," Burt threatened.

Kurt scowled, perching neatly on the plastic seat the nurses had supplied. "Between Wes, the record company, and the band's publicists, nothing is ever perfect," he explained to Carole.

"If he doesn't like something, can't he just change it?" Finn asked through a mouthful of bread roll that was originally intended for Burt. "I mean, he's the lead singer, right? Doesn't he call the shots?"

Eyeing Finn's open mouth with disgust, Kurt replied, "Even the royals have to negotiate with idiots."

The conversation cut off as Blaine slid inside, phone in hand, brows furrowed in discontent.

"What's with the face?" Kurt asked.

"Nothing." Blaine forced a smile. "It's just Wes stressing."

"About?"

"Um, you know Harmony Delgada?"

"Not personally, no."

Harmony Delgada was a singer/songwriter who Kurt didn't particularly care for. Her voice was admittedly beautiful, but her songs were boring and clichéd at best. How she'd managed to win a Grammy five years earlier, was beyond his understanding. It must have been a slow music year. 

"Har, har." Blaine rolled his eyes. "The record company want us to collaborate with her. Wes has been trying for months to get her to agree to a meeting, and her rep phoned up this morning and expected us to drop everything and meet today. Naturally, the little angel threw a fit when Wes explained I wasn't even in the country."

Kurt bit his lip guiltily. "Sorry."

"Don't be daft, none of us even _want_ to collaborate with her." Blaine rolled his eyes and took his seat next to Kurt. "One of the talking heads up top thinks it will be a good way to bridge the gap between our current album and the next one. Keep the fans interested, you know?"

"So, you're not a fan of her," Carole observed. Between Carole, Finn and Burt, she was by far the most fascinated by the stories he told.

"Of the screaming banshee? Not even a bit. To put it lightly, she's a pain in the a...backside," Blaine shot a furtive glance at Burt, who Kurt had forgotten was there for a moment, too wrapped up in the only work-related information Blaine had laid on him. "She has this really obnoxious personality."

"Yeah... obnoxious personality. Who would want to deal with that?" Kurt said airily.

"Alright, alright." Blaine chuffed and dropped his chin to his chest in embarrassment. "At least I admit I can be obnoxious."

"How noble of you."

Kurt watched Blaine chew the inside of his cheeks and relished the fact he was trying so hard to keep from being inappropriate. Carole would probably find their usual banter amusing, but he was right to watch his words in front of Kurt's dad.

"They'll just rearrange to suit her highness and we'll get it over with as quickly as possible," Blaine finished.

* * *

Throughout the week Kurt found new reasons to be amazed by Blaine. He spoke to Burt and Carole with ease, humoring Carole’s curiosity with a patient smile, debating with Burt and Finn about the merits of American football versus soccer with spirit.

"I just don't get why you guys call it 'football' when you carry the ball around most of the time?" Kurt heard Blaine say one time, when he returned from the cafeteria with coffee for everyone. The three of them had their eyes glued to a Buckeyes game on the TV.

"I don't get why you guys call soccer, 'football'," Burt rebuffed gruffly.

"It makes sense! At least with football – sorry, soccer – you're supposed to use your feet the whole time. The only time you're allowed to touch the ball with your hand, is if it's a throw in from the side-line or you're the goal keeper. You don't use your feet all that much in your version."

"They run and stuff," Finn countered.

"And how come they stop the clock all the time? Just get on with it!" Blaine said.

Kurt rolled his eyes at them and settled next to Carole.

Secretly, he'd been watching every interaction with barely concealed interest. In the months he'd known him, Kurt had never seen Blaine let his guard down quite like this. Perhaps it was because his responsibilities were on another continent, the distance changing his perspective of their importance and bringing him out of his carefully constructed shell.

It was the afternoon Blaine went missing for two hours that made Kurt curse the day he became the media's favorite tabloid bed-hopper. Taking a walk, he’d found Blaine down in pediatrics, acoustic guitar on his lap, surrounded by kids of all ages and their relatives. He was taking song requests, teaching the older kids how to form the chords on the guitar strings with their fingers, and making up silly songs for the little ones.

Kurt didn't know how long he watched, nor could he count the times his stomach flip-flopped and his inner monologue cooed at the sight. What he did know was that he hadn't smiled this much in weeks, which was really saying something given the circumstances of their presence in the hospital. He was just as helpless to Blaine's charm as everybody else here.

When day five came around, the day of Kurt's twenty-third birthday, Burt was finally discharged. Kurt had mixed feelings. On the one hand, it was the best present he could have asked for to have his dad safely home again. But was it safe? Could Carole cope? Should he defy orders and stay longer, risking his father's wrath?

No, he couldn't. Kurt's time was up. The bubble must burst. So after a hearty celebration, which included Carole’s homemade lasagna and a hasty trip to the store for a last minute birthday strawberry cheesecake, he and Blaine were headed back to the UK the morning after.

"I like him." Burt pulled Kurt to one side when Blaine was preoccupied hugging Carole goodbye. "He's not what I expected, you know, from what I read."

"How much research did you do?" Kurt asked suspiciously.

Burt shifted defensively. "You're my son, of course I was going to investigate."

With a roll of the eyes, Kurt crouched down in front of Burt's armchair and pulled his dad into an embrace, chin tucked on his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.

"Love you. No eating junk food, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Dad," Kurt warned.

"I promise!" Burt exclaimed. "And take care of yourself too, okay? And I'm not just talking about your health, bud. Take care of this too." He pulled back from the hug and tapped his finger to Kurt's chest.

"Dad..."

"I like the guy," Burt muttered in his ear. "But if he hurts you, he's toast."

"We're not- I don't- it doesn't matter. I'm not allowed anyway," Kurt fumbled awkwardly. Why was this even a talking point?

"Little piece of advice, Kurt: Don't use a contract to hide from whatever might be going on in there." Burt swiped his hand through Kurt's hair, only to be swatted away affectionately. "You'll hurt more than just yourself that way."

Grumbling, Kurt made his way through the front door and down the garden path to the driveway, bag slung over his shoulder.

"Kurt?"

Burt was hovering by the front door, clinging to the frame to steady his balance.

"Dad! Go and sit down! You only just got out of the hospital," Kurt chastised. Dropping his bag where he stood, he doubled back to gently steer his dad back indoors to his favorite armchair. The one closest to the TV, perfectly angled to keep an eye on the screen and sneak looks into the kitchen.

"Calm down..." Burt wheezed. "Your old man is made of sturdier stuff than you think."

"I just told you to look after yourself. Maybe I should stay. I-"

"Kurt, quit the melodramatics!" Burt cut him off. "I just forgot to say I loved you back, bud."

Kurt visibly deflated at that, shoulders dropping. His lips relaxed into a little smile. "Oh... I love you more."

* * *

"Blaine?"

"Hmm?" Blaine shifted in his seat, laid his head back against the wall of the plane to gaze out the window.

They were somewhere over Greenland.

"Where do you live?" Kurt asked. "I mean like, when you're not in a hotel or travelling the world."

"I bought a place in North London two years ago," Blaine said.

"So… if your home is in London, why don't you stay there more? Why stay in hotels?"

Blaine considered his answer. "The hotel is close to wherever we need to be the next day and, well, you know how little sleep we get. I’d take a lie-in over going home. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah it does," Kurt said, although he was certain there was more to it than that. He could see it in the way Blaine shifted and ran his hand over his hair. Kurt’s lip twitched up at the side.

"What?" Blaine asked. He slid the window shutter down, blocking the clouds from view.

"No, it's just... maybe you'd get more sleep if you actually _slept_ at night instead of, you know..." Kurt waggled his eyebrows.

Blaine laughed loudly and batted at Kurt's shoulder. He lifted his feet onto the seat. "Okay, laugh it up. Sex is good for your health. You should try it more often."

"How do you know I don't?"

"Because you're blushing brighter than Rudolf's shiny nose right now."

Kurt pulled his blue cashmere sweater over his nose. "God, I make myself seem so virginal, don't I?" Blaine didn't deny it. "I'm not, you know."

"Virginal?"

"Blushing," Kurt countered and took a swig of water, burrowing his nose back into his sweater.

"Why do you ask anyway?

Kurt shrugged. "Curiosity, I guess. I've been to Jeff's parents’ house, and Nick and David's apartment in Islington to pick stuff up. You've never asked me to go to your house for anything."

"You've never been to Trent's place either," Blaine pointed out.

"That's because he chooses to live out of his suitcase," Kurt countered. "When he's here anyway. Is it just me, or is he spending more and more time in Wales, when he's not with us?"

"He gets homesick. Back at school, he never stayed for the weekend at Dalton. The bell would ring on Friday afternoon and he'd leave immediately for the train station, moving back into the dorms before curfew Sunday night," Blaine explained over a yawn. "Besides, it's fun to rip off the record company." 

"What's your house like?" Kurt asked.

Blaine's lips thinned. "Bare. Too big. Full of one too many unwelcome memories and not enough good ones." Blaine shrugged lightly and busied himself with his iPod, thumbing through his song list.

It was better to let that one go, Kurt decided. For now.

"Quinn emailed your new schedule over, by the way. Harmony Delgada has been booked for tomorrow."

With a groan Blaine slid down the seat and shoved his pillow over his head. "Great... Harmony and jet lag."

"The perfect combo."

* * *

Harmony and jet lag were the perfect combination for a migraine according to Blaine the next day. Kurt spent most of his first day back chained to a desk, answering emails and taking both the band and Wes' phone calls, while Quinn assisted with Operation Diva.

"She can't be that bad, right?" Kurt asked at lunch, popping a fry in his mouth.

"She talked and talked and yelled and talked and squealed and talked and interrupted and talked and-"

"Okay, Jeff!" Kurt held his hands up. "I get it. She talks."

"Do you have any idea what it's like to be stuck in a room with someone who _never_ shuts up about themselves?" Jeff exclaimed dramatically. “I thought I was gonna’ deck her."

"I'm familiar," he said nonchalantly. "My roommate Rachel is pretty impossible."

"I bet Rachel's a gem in comparison." David grumbled.

Rachel genuinely is a gem in comparison, as Kurt found out his second day back. Everything started out normally enough.

Morning meetings held at Canary Records allow Kurt to get his menial tasks out of the way early, leaving the afternoon to focus on more important things. This could be anything from answering emails, opening mail that came to the offices for Kurt, and sifting through the band's fan letter box.

Starting with his own pile, Kurt took pause when a sealed white envelope fell out of a larger brown envelope. Turning it over, he frowned at the name scrawled on the front: Ben Luvdall.

Kurt looked around, like this person would materialize out of nowhere, pluck the envelope from his grasp and declare it a mistake. No such thing happened. Why would a letter for a complete stranger be enclosed inside an envelope addressed to him?

Shrugging it off, Kurt set the letter aside and got to work separating the fan mail into piles for Trent, Blaine, Jeff, David, and Nick. Before he could screen the letters for inappropriate content though, he froze, recalling an enormous pile of dry cleaning that hadn't been sorted before his abrupt departure to Ohio.

"Shit."

He wrapped elastic bands around the piles of letters, chucking them back in their box, and reached under his desk for the abandoned bag of clothes. Refolding each item inside, he wrinkled his nose at a white and suspicious stain rubbed in at the crotch of a pair of pants Blaine had worn for a chat show a few weeks prior.

With an eye roll, Kurt folded them gingerly and left in search of Blaine, figuring he’d rather know what he was dealing with there.

He located Blaine inside the meeting room, sat on the conference table talking to Harmony. She was a short and thin girl, with dark hair smoothed back in a high bun. Kurt raised an eyebrow at the sunglasses perched on her nose. Indoors.

“Hey Blaine, I tried to get the stain out of these pants before Ohio, but it looks like I’m going to have to send them to the dry cleaners. Do I need to come up with something more PC than the truth?” Kurt asked.

“Oh _you’re_ the help!” Harmony exclaimed. “Excellent. If you could grab me a caramel latte that would be super.”

“Oh, no, Harmony, Kurt’s _our_ assistant, not…” Blaine began.

“Caramel latte?” Kurt interrupted. “Sure. I’ll go and ask everyone else too.”

Harmony clapped her hands for his attention. “I’m not done. If you could stir the latte before you give it to me?”

“Stir the latte,” Kurt parroted. “Got it.”

“Oh, and Kyle?”

Kurt’s hands closed into fists. He turned back to her, trying very hard not to grind his teeth. “There aren’t any flowers in here. Please buy a dozen lilies and set them up over there.” She pointed to a small side table. “Flowers make everyone feel creative.”

Blaine was looking between them in mortification. “Harmony, no, he’s not-”

“A dozen lilies,” Kurt said cheerfully, wondering how long it would take to shave her hair off with a standard razor. He wouldn't even release her hair from the bun. Just fetch the sheers and snip. “Absolutely. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get on that.”

In between everything else he already had to do that day.

Kurt closed the door behind him a little harder than necessary, but Blaine slid through immediately after.

"Kurt, you don't have to do any of that," he said, holding Kurt at the elbow between his long fingers. "You just assist _us_ , not the people we work with."

"Its fine," Kurt replied tightly. "If she asks for anything else, I'll tell her I'm not her slave."

Kurt made it as far as the corner when a thought struck him.

"Blaine, do you know anyone called Ben Luvdall?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"There was an envelope within an envelope addressed to me, but the inside one is for someone called Ben Luvdall?" Kurt explained.

"No, I don't think so. Oh, wait, no! I mean, yes. He's a friend of Nick's."

"Oh, okay, I'll pass it to Nick then," Kurt said distractedly. That didn't explain why it was addressed to Kurt, but he didn't have time to question it. "I'll see you later, kay?"

"Don't be long now," Blaine teased. "Her highness is waiting."

"We can't have that."

* * *

When Kurt made it back with coffee, the meeting was in session. He maneuvered through the door with practiced ease and stopped short at the sight before him. Everyone, including Harmony’s weary representative, was slumped in their seats, varying expressions of irritation evident on their faces.

“…I just think that in this particular part of the song, my voice would be more suited?” Harmony was saying.

“Wait, if this part is more suited to your voice as well, then that means you will be singing,” Nick pretended to appraise the sheet music in his hands, “the verses and the bridge, leaving us the chorus. Which you will be singing too?”

“Exactly.”

Kurt handed coffee cups around the group, stifling a giggle at the looks the band were aiming at the girl.

“You want to feature on one of _our_ songs and leave us as the back-up?” Jeff said, very slowly like he was talking to a child.

“Feature on _your_ song?” Harmony scoffed and took her latte from Kurt without acknowledgement. “Hardly. You guys are lucky I even said yes to this.”

“I beg your pardon?” David said.

“Well, don’t get me wrong, you guys are talented, but you were manufactured by reality TV,” she said with a dismissive hand wave. “You don’t even write your songs.”

“That’s not by choice,” Nick bit, scowling at the table.

“I, on the other hand managed to become a household name by myself,” she continued. “I don’t _feature_ on other people’s songs. They _feature_ on mine.”

She took a sip of her caramel latte and frowned at the cup.

“Harmony, this isn’t-” Wes began, but she had turned her back on everyone.

“Karl!”

Kurt turned on the spot.

“His name’s _Kurt_ ,” Blaine hissed.

“Why did you buy me a medium?” she demanded, blue eyes boring into Kurt's. “And this wasn’t stirred at all. Do you need idiot instructions? Go get me a skinny one.” She set the coffee cup on the table beside her. “And where are the lilies?”

“I was just about to go get them,” Kurt mumbled at his chest, avoiding the many pairs of eyes on him. His ears and neck felt warm, embarrassed to be belittled in front of so many of his superiors.

“Harmony, he’s not yours to-”

“-Fine, but get the coffee first,” she cut across Wes.

“Or… I mean, you could just drink that one and leave what you don’t want?” Kurt suggested.

Immediately he knew this was a mistake. She jumped to her feet, latte in hand, and threw the cardboard cup full of caramel latte directly at Kurt. The plastic top popped off mid-flight, coffee spilling onto her intended target.

Kurt yelled out, scrabbling to stop the coffee seeping through his shirt to his chest. Caramel syrup oozed a trail down his waistcoat. 

“Or you could just get it right the first time!” she snarled.

Stunned silence followed, open mouthed gawping, and suddenly everyone in the room jumped up. Wes rounded on Harmony. David and Nick held a furious Blaine in his chair. Trent and Jeff hurried towards Kurt, which snapped him out of his horrified daze. Hissing in pain, he backed up, grasped the door handle behind him and threw it open; fled the room before he could do something stupid like retaliate.

Disregarding the gender sign on the door of the nearest bathroom, he startled a female employee on route to the nearest cubicle. He scraped the lock and, forehead to the wall, burst into tears.

He was mortified. Hot tears slid down his face to his already sopping wet and red raw neck. Pulling wads of tissue from the dispenser, he dabbed his skin and cringed as a sharp pain shot up his nerves. Shaky fingers undid his waistcoat, followed by his dress shirt. He used the remaining tissue to blot the coffee without rubbing it in to the fabric, but he knew it would be no use. He’d saved up for months to buy both items from the Alexander McQueen Fall collection, all for them to be ruined by a moronic recording artist with a lack of impulse control.

Kurt threw them against the cubicle wall and slid to the floor, not even caring he was sitting in caramel syrup. A significant amount had drizzled into his jeans anyway.

Was this what the rest of his life was going to be? People treating him like an inconvenience, while he struggled to work out what to do with his life? He thought this type of thing ended with high school, but apparently there would always be someone out there throwing drinks at him.

The door to the bathroom creaked open. “Kurt?” Blaine called out.

“He’s in there,” the woman from earlier said.

Kurt heard her heels clip clop out of the door and they were left alone. He squeezed his knees to his chest, stifled a sob.

“Are you okay?” Blaine asked.

“No…” Kurt’s voice trembled.

“I- can you come out so I can make it better, please?”

“No.”

“Kurt…”

“You know, when I was kid, I thought having a drink thrown at you would be like the movies.” Kurt laughed humorlessly. “I thought I'd see it happen to men in restaurants. Or I would chuck one at a pig I was on a date with. Something glamorous."

"Yeah...?" Blaine's voice was close to the door now.

Kurt took a deep breath. “I used to have slushies’ thrown at me at school."

"Oh… Kurt."

"It wasn't just me. My school's glee club was really unpopular. We used to walk around in raincoats." Kurt chuckled darkly. "At least I knew I could leave school behind though. This is my job, Blaine. How am I supposed to be respected, if shit like this happens to me?”

“Kurt, please, open the door so I can... I don’t know, give you a hug? Help you clean up?” Blaine said. “And then we can chalk this whole thing up to experience and never work with that bitch again.”

Kurt hiccupped. “Where is she?”

“With a lot of luck, she’s already left the building.” Blaine said coldly. "I've made it pretty clear I'm not working with her, and Wes seems to agree."

"What about the song?"

"We'll work something out. It's not due out for a couple of months."

Kurt nodded even though Blaine couldn’t see it.

“So are you coming out?”

Kurt took a steadying breath and hopped to his feet. The door unlocked, eased open, and an embrace met him.

“Blaine I’m still covered in coffee,” Kurt mumbled into his neck, not that he was willing to let go.

“I don’t like this shirt anyway,” Blaine replied. His hand rubbed up and down Kurt’s back soothingly. “Stain it all you want.”

Kurt choked a reluctant laugh and pulled back to smile at him. “There’s that noble streak again.”

“That looks nasty." Blaine’s thumb hovered over the pink skin below Kurt’s collarbone, and his phantom touch made Kurt shudder away. It was too raw. “Come on, get on the counter.”

Kurt did as told, bemused when Blaine produced a first aid kit from the cupboard below the sinks. Pulling a cloth from the kit, Blaine rinsed it under the cold tap.

"Normally I'd get you to put the burn under the tap or find some ice to hold over it, but for now I'm going to dab it with cold water, okay? Until someone who knows what they’re doing sees you," Blaine said.

Nodding, Kurt watched Blaine apply the cold, damp cloth to his sore skin and hissed, tongue peeking out between clenched teeth. Harmony had mostly caught his clothes thankfully, but his skin was tender where the liquid had seeped through to his chest.

"Alright?"

"Alright." Kurt gripped the counter, wincing at every touch.

"I'm going to wring the cloth out on the burn,” Blaine said, throat clearing awkwardly. “It might get your undershirt wet though."

Kurt hesitated a moment before peeling the undershirt off his torso, over his head. Blaine took a shaky breath, eyes focused on the task at hand. The occasional glance flickered lower, and Kurt could feel his skin heating up for a completely different reason now. He shivered; water dripped over the burn, oozing down his torso to pool in his belly button.

“So… what is that stain on those pants?”

Blaine blinked dazedly back up at Kurt's face and smirked. “My trousers may or may not have been a casualty of a guy who needs to practice swallowing.”

“Ew!” Kurt wrinkled his nose up, thankful the subject had effectively killed the atmosphere between them. Was it odd that this felt like a safe topic?

Ten minutes later, Blaine blotted the moisture with a paper towel and blew on the burn to make sure it was dry. Kurt shivered again and took his cue to pull his undershirt back on.

“You okay now?” Blaine asked, thumb stroking at Kurt’s elbow.

“Yes. Thank you. Are the boys going to laugh at me?”

"About being assaulted? Hell, no. They're worried about you. Wes isn't going to take this matter lightly. They might laugh at you if Jeff's picked out a shirt for you to wear though," Blaine said teasingly. “Mercedes isn't here and I don’t think he’s forgiven you yet for the handcuff thing.”

Kurt’s eyes widened. “Oh, crap!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems kind of fitting that chapter thirteen is posted on Halloween. The coffee incident in this chapter actually happened to a friend of mine. She was working as an assistant to an actress whose friend lost her temper when my friend got her order wrong.
> 
> Edit: My friend did press charges against the girl. Although the girl who did it got off a lot easier than she should have.


	14. A Stylist's Dilemma

Festival season was well underway in the UK. Music lovers were coming out in their thousands to camp on muddy fields and squeeze into sweaty crowds. All to watch their favorite bands and recording artists perform live, and feel that unique rush of comradeship when ten thousand people gather together to belt out the same lyrics.

The Warblers played Glastonbury Festival for the first time in late June, which Kurt had come to understand was a huge deal.

“Think Coachella, but with questionable weather,” David said when Kurt queried it.

It was the day Kurt bore witness to his first real display of nerves from the boys. David paced the trailers snapping at anyone who pulled him from his focus. Jeff had to lap the VIP area ten times to work off his nervous energy. Nick threw up his lunch. Blaine refused to eat anything, in case he followed in Nick's footsteps. And finally, Kurt learned the mystery behind Trent's nickname, 'Poopy'.

"The 'Panic Poo' strikes again." Blaine grimaced in sympathy when Trent disappeared into the backstage toilet trailer for the fourth time that afternoon.

It took a Google search to work out their uncharacteristic jitters. Glastonbury was the type of festival traditionally reserved for bands that played instruments. While the likes of Jay Z and Beyoncé were the odd exception to the rule, you were more likely to see a band like The Killers, Muse or The Libertines over a boy band like The Warblers.

Chances of their being booed off the stage were high.

Luckily, they weren’t booked for the main stage. And when they did go on, the reception was widely positive thanks to the fans who had turned up and formed a barricade of support around the stage, keeping the music lovers who despised acts from reality shows in the back. Well, that and the band decided to veto the usual two step shuffle choreography they were known for, in favor of David, Nick and Jeff playing drums, bass and electric guitar respectively for most of the set, Blaine and Trent handling the lead vocals. The clouds above them unleashed a sudden downpour towards the end of their set, and Blaine took the opportunity to serenade the audience with a slowed down cover of Rihanna's Umbrella on the keyboard.

The rain cleared just as the boys hit the final chorus, and once they had taken their bows and were backstage again, Blaine was convinced it was the power of song that did it.

Kurt coughed something that sounded suspiciously like 'smug bastard', and squealed when Blaine flapped his wet hair at him like a dog, chasing Kurt around the trailers until he slipped on a mud patch and took Blaine down with him.

It took three days for Kurt to rid himself of the mud from that day.

Fast-forward to the beginning of July and the next festival on their agenda was Wireless. 

No day was ever alike with The Warblers, but they always started the same, with Kurt locating a coffee shop and dosing the team up for the mayhem ahead. He'd just ordered in a tiny place around the corner from the park, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. These days he was barely fazed by it, multitasking coming easily to him.

“Hello?”

_“Hey stranger.”_

Kurt checked the screen. Unknown Number. Puzzled, he wondered aloud why the voice sounded familiar.

_“Should I be offended that you forget your old college friends so easily?”_

College? Wait… English accent, deep and slightly breathy voice… “Adam?”

_“He remembers! For a moment there I thought I had the wrong number. I only left New York two years ago, Kurt. Did you forget me so easily?”_

“You’ve changed your number!” Kurt exclaimed. “How was I supposed to know it was you?”

_“Touché. So, a little birdie told me you’re spending a lot of time in England.”_

“Yeah, I practically live here at the moment,” Kurt said, and held the phone between his shoulder and ear. He took the two coffee carriers from the barista with a smile of thanks. “I’m a PA for a band, and they’re mostly recording over here right now. Are you here too?”

 _“Actually, that’s why I’m calling,”_ Adam said. _“I may or may not be starring in the West End production of Spamalot right now and I thought, when you get a night off that is, I could secure you the best seats in the house? You can bring a friend and we’ll catch up after the show. What do you think?”_

“Oh… are you sure? I mean, I- we didn’t exactly leave things on great terms, I…”

 _“Kurt,”_ Adam interrupted. _“I’m over it, okay? The time we were together was… well, we were friends first and I’d really like to get back to that, if you’re up for a reboot?”_

“I would actually love that,” Kurt admitted. “I don’t have any friends over here outside of work.” It would be nice to be able to see someone who has nothing to do with The Warblers.

 _“Well, you do now,”_ Adam said cheerfully. _“Just let me know when you’re free. I’ll sort everything on my end.”_

“Awesome. Listen, can we talk properly later? I’m sort of juggling my phone and ten cups of coffee right now.”

_“Oh! Yes. Get back to work, lazy. I’ll ring you soon.”_

Kurt laughed. “Bye, Adam.”

Adam. A little thrill climbed his spine. He hadn’t spoken to him in so long. How had he not thought to call him? Okay, Kurt knew the answer to that. He thought Adam wouldn’t want to hear from him, in England or not.

* * *

“What are you smiling at?” Mercedes asked, when Kurt handed coffee to her ten minutes later. She was sorting through a rack labelled ‘Trent’ in a trailer set up for stylists backstage.

“Nothing. An old friend just called me. He lives here, so we’re going to meet up.”

“Old friend, huh?” Mercedes waggled her eyebrows at him.

“…Fine, ex-boyfriend," Kurt conceded. "We dated back in college, but it didn’t work out.”

“Aww, baby,” she cooed. “So is this a meet-up with possibility, or…?”

“No, no… no.” Kurt blushed. “It was great while it lasted but, I don’t know. I never felt that ‘thing’ with him. He was lovely and safe and fun, but we never had enough…”

“Sex?”

Kurt pinched her arm, aghast.

She cackled loudly and tried again. “Chemistry?” He nodded his approval of that answer. “I know what you mean. My ex-boyfriend was a college football player and the man worshipped the ground I walked on.”

“Why is he an ex then?”

“Because I didn’t love him like he loved me,” she replied sadly. “The hardest thing I ever had to do was let that boy go.”

“Yeah,” Kurt understood. Adam was one of the sweetest people in the world. Not _the_ sweetest though; despite his temper there were many qualities he was finding made Blaine deserving of that title. He’d been lucky to experience the firsts that counted with a gentleman though.

“Any word on that Delgada bitch, by the way?” Mercedes asked.

“Bullshit mostly,” Kurt grumbled. “Her people want me to sign a settlement.”

“You mean, hush money? Oh, _hell_ to the no!” Mercedes exclaimed. “She assaulted you! Who do they think they are?”

“A multi-billion dollar record company, with a recording artist worth a lot of money to them,” said Kurt wearily. “They want to keep this whole affair out of the press by settling it out of court.”

“They must have their hands tied then,” Mercedes mused.

“That’s what my lawyer said,” Kurt agreed. “There’s all this legal jargon she had to translate for me, but from what I can tell, I have too many witnesses. Even if her reps tell a sanitized version to the cops, there are seven people backing me up. Plus the photos Wes got Quinn to take.”

“How much are they willing to give you?”

“I-” Kurt hesitated. “More money than I’ve ever seen in my life. More than the maximum fine she’d receive from the courts, but my lawyer thinks it isn’t enough because I’ve got this scar on my neck now and she’s loaded…”

Kurt's fingers ghosted over the spot where Harmony did the most damage, just above his left collarbone. The skin had healed over in the last month, leaving a discolored mark that would never return to its original state.

“What do you want to do about it?” Mercedes asked softly. “Lawyers can advise you, but it’s still your choice how you pursue this. If you want to let the law decide, do it.”

“I just want this to be quick and painless so I can get on with my life,” Kurt admitted. “And Canary Records think I should take it. But then if I let myself get paid off, isn’t that allowing her to win? If I sign that settlement, I can't comment publicly on what she did. She’ll get away with it. And probably hurt someone else she thinks is beneath her. And I have to think about the band too. What if this reflects badly on them in the media?”

Mercedes considered him thoughtfully. “You know what I think?

“What?”

“I think you’re too good a person for your own good. And I think spending the last six months at the guys’ beck and call has made you stop thinking of yourself first. They will come out of this okay because Kitty is damn good at her job, and they did nothing wrong.”

“You think?”

“I know,” she assured him. “Take a step back, and do what’s right by you. It was _you_ she attacked. Okay?”

Kurt nodded at his lap, swallowing thickly. What she was suggesting, putting himself before everyone else, went against every one of his natural instincts. She was right though.

“What are you doing anyway?” he asked.

“Having a crisis, as usual.” Mercedes huffed, and wiped a hand over her brow. She took a shirt out of Jeff’s rack, pulled a face and hung it back up. “I should’ve worn my sensible heels today, the amount of running around I’m doing.”

“Can I help?”

“If you can pull together five outfits that will match the Warblers style _and_ keep them happy, then by all means, help me. I had this all planned out, but the first fitting went to hell earlier. They all said that what we picked out is meant for a colder day and Jan is off sick.”

Kurt took a large gulp of his coffee and rifled through the racks of clothes. It _was_ the warmest morning he’d experienced in London. And he knew first hand that humidity and performance did not mix. Dancing in Central Park on the hottest day of June for a Showcase his final year at NYADA, he very nearly passed out. Whatever the guys wore on stage this afternoon, would need to be loose enough to keep them cool.

Blazers, waistcoats, dress shirts, ties, bowties, cardigans and jeans had been their signature style from the beginning, in keeping with the preppy uniform they had worn on Britain’s Got Talent.

“I’m thinking shorts,” Kurt said. “Do we have any? Cargos, chinos?”

“No… they usually wear jeans or slacks.” She groaned. “What are you thinking?”

“Chinos with short-sleeved dress shirts. Give Blaine a pale pink dress shirt and a black bowtie, Jeff could rock a light blue dress shirt with a dark blue tie which is loose, top button undone. For David I’m thinking camouflage cargos, but instead of a dress shirt, put him in a white polo to keep him cool. Trent can wear a polo too, actually. Green? I think green. Nick? White tank top, open shirt over the top, chinos, no tie. Make sure the shirts are short sleeved, and for god’s sake eschew the blazers. The guys will melt out there otherwise.”

Kurt stopped and waited for Mercedes to respond. She was too busy gawping. “I thought you were in a rush?” he said.

Spurred to action, Mercedes pulled him into an embrace and kissed him all over his face. “You’re a genius- I love you- I could kiss you all over- there’s so much to do! Shit, we need shorts!”

“Sort everything else out, I’ll make some calls. Okay?” Kurt said, slightly dazed from being manhandled so affectionately.

“Wait, wait,” Mercedes called, and pulled a sheet of paper from a folder. “This is the hard copy with the numbers for designers, off the rack retailers’ etcetera.”

“You’re amazing!” Kurt kissed her cheek and left the trailer, phone in hand.

40 minutes later he’d ordered exactly what they needed and set out to pick up the items which couldn’t be delivered from the nearest stores. By the time the boys were ready for a second fitting at 2pm, Kurt had somehow managed to coerce, bully and sweet-talk their way into possession of everything needed to throw the outfits’ together.

"What do you think?" Blaine asked. He walked out from the trailer set up for changing and did a neat little twirl on the gravel.

Kurt's whistle was low. The chinos he'd picked out for Blaine were a pale brown which matched the pale pink shirt Mercedes had found lurking near the middle of his rack, perfectly. The sleeves were short enough to keep him cool, and if they happened to show off his toned, golden biceps nicely, Kurt did his very best not to linger on them. Black loafers had been selected to match in with the finishing touch, a black bowtie around his neck.

He reached out to adjust the bowtie and smoothed it out. "Perfect." Kurt grinned. “You know how to tie bowties?”

“Yeah…” Blaine ducked his head sheepishly. “I liked them when I was a kid. My brother says I was every girl’s wet dream and once held a memorial for the, quote: 'Pussy I could have gotten had I not been gay'. He's kind of an idiot.”

Kurt laughed, eyes dancing with amusement. "You should wear them more often. Bowties are adorable on you."

Blaine ducked his head bashfully and bit his lip. "Thanks, I- Mercedes, you've really outdone yourself," Blaine complimented and distractedly brushed invisible lint from his shorts. "Sorry we were such a pain earlier."

"I can't actually take the praise this time, Bee, much as I'd like to." Mercedes elbowed Kurt in the side. "I had a meltdown and this guy put it all together. He's my hero."

Blaine's eyebrows raised in surprise, but it was followed by a burst of laughter. He looked up at Kurt through his lashes. "I really should have guessed you'd be stylist material. You always look like you just stepped out of Vogue."

A blush, crimson and mortifying, spread up Kurt's neck and quickly colored his cheeks a ripe cherry red. He scuffed his foot against the floor. "Well, I did used to work for them."

"I better be careful, or he's going to take my job," Mercedes teased.

Kurt scoffed at that and turned his attention to a scuffle behind them. Nick had tripped out of the trailer door, nudged through by Jeff and the two were now kicking playfully at one another. Jeff bolted sideways and Nick barreled after him, the two disappearing between the trailers, laughter ringing out around them.

"Knock it off you two!" Kurt hollered. "Ruin your outfits I will personally see to it you can’t conceive children!"

That did it. Jeff and Nick hurried around the corner, pushing at one another the whole way, skidding to a halt in front of Kurt and Mercedes. Blaine was hanging back near the trailer, arms folded and one ankle crossed over the other as he watched the scene unfold with a fond smile.

"Stop squirming!" Kurt snipped.

Eventually the two calmed enough for Mercedes and Kurt to assess their work when Trent and David joined them. The outfits were perfect. He gave Mercedes a low five and mentally patted himself on the back for a job well done.

It was only a one-time thing, of course. But it was nice to see the results of his handiwork up there on the Wireless stage from the wings.


	15. His Name is Lancelot

Kurt was in a dilemma. It was another week and a half before he had a night off to go and watch Spamalot. Adam confirmed that two tickets were left at the box office for collection, but it seemed ten days wasn’t enough time to find someone willing to tagalong.

Trent was headed back to Wales for a wedding, Nick was going to a party, David had a family obligation, and Jeff had already seen the play. Considering Adam is his ex-boyfriend, Kurt felt uncomfortable inviting Blaine along, and Mercedes, his original choice, had blushingly informed him she had a date that night. He’d let that one go with a smirk but it still left him with a conundrum.

The truth is, he hadn’t noticed his lack of a social circle in London until he'd awoken the morning of the show resigned to going alone. Sometimes he felt like he didn’t even _have_ friends outside of work. Despite speaking to Rachel frequently over Skype, she mostly talked about herself, which if he was honest left him feeling even lonelier.

That afternoon was a classic example. He’d taken to bringing his personal tablet to work as well as his company issued iPad, just in case his dad needed to contact him over Skype, something Rachel took advantage of while he was setting up a meeting room. He accepted the call with a quick glance at the time.

“Hey Rach,” he called out.

 _“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!”_ she screeched.

Kurt took a good look at her on his screen. Her cheeks were flushed like she’d just come out of a dance rehearsal, hair all over her face, eyes shining with undiluted joy.

“What’s got you in a bad mood?” he teased.

_“I got it!”_

He paused in arranging glasses on the meeting table. “Got what?”

 _“Miss Honey!”_ she squealed. _“I got it! I take over the role in Matilda: The Musical from September 5th!”_

“Oh wow… wow that’s… wow,” Kurt said lamely.

 _“Well don’t get too excited.”_ She pouted from his screen, put out by his lesser response.

“No, no I _am_ excited, I just... you never said you were auditioning,” he excused.

 _“What do you mean? Of course I did,”_ she said with a huff, but then covered her mouth with a gasp. _“Oh no, I didn’t. Sorry! I was going to but then your dad got sick and it didn’t seem like a good time.”_

“No, it’s fine. That’s amazing Rachel, I’m so happy for you,” he said meekly.

_“I know, right? I can’t believe it. I get to sing and work with children and prove my versatility with an English accent. Do you think anyone you know would help me perfect it?”_

“Oh… maybe? I’m actually seeing Adam tonight. I can ask him.”

She doesn’t take the bait, too busy planning her next adventure on the Broadway stage to comprehend the significance of his being in contact with Adam.

_“Awesome. Thank you, thank you, I have to get back, but we’ll talk strategy later, okay?”_

“Sure… bye.”

_“Love you!”_

The connection cut out and Kurt sat, stunned. First Fanny Bryce in Funny Girl, then Nessa Rose in Wicked and now Miss Honey in Matilda. Rachel was really going places with rave reviews, autographs to sign and Tony awards to covet.

Kurt was cleaning up after five boys and getting coffee.

“Sitting down on the job? I can't leave you for five minutes,” Quinn said.  She was leaning against the door frame, arms folded over her chest tightly.

Kurt jumped from his chair, hand held to his rapidly pulsing heart.

“Jesus! Warn a guy!" he said. "I was just thinking.” With a frown in her direction (he could have sworn she was off work for the next week) he scanned down the list to make sure everything was set up. Wes said this meeting was important.

_Four jugs of water – Check_

_Twelve glasses – Check_

_Twelve chairs – Check_

_Buffet table (Croissants, bagels, tea etc.) – Check_

_Coffee maker switched on – Check_

_Laptop collected from Wes’ office – To do_

Quinn was scanning the list over his shoulder. Puzzled, he settled the paper back on the table.

"Did you forget something?” he asked her.

“No, I’m working today too,” Quinn replied tonelessly.

“…Everything okay?”

“Yes,” she snipped.

“Okay…" Kurt cleared his throat awkwardly. "Let me know if you need anything.”

He smiled a kind but wary smile and her crinkled brows softened, lips un-pursing. A chair scraped the floor and Quinn settled on it with her hand to her forehead.

“Quinn?” Kurt stepped gingerly towards her. He flexed his fingers to touch her shoulder, but thought better of it.

“My daughter has chicken pox,” Quinn said hollowly. He clasped a chair back between his fingers, giving her his full attention, scared to move and remind her who she’s sharing with. “I was supposed to be visiting her at her foster mother's in New York this week, but I’ve never had the pox. We agreed it would be best I didn’t go.”

It wasn’t her idea, Kurt could hear it in her voice, bitterness laced in every syllable.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I hope she’s better soon.”

“Thanks.”

He’d made it to the door when a thought struck him. “Quinn, I-” he broke off, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve got a spare ticket for Spamalot tonight. Would you like to go?”

“Actually… that would be great.” Her returning smile was dim, but warmer than any other she’d ever directed his way. He took that as a win.

* * *

Kurt tapped his foot impatiently against the leg of his desk. It was 6.20pm, which gave him exactly one hour and ten minutes to get back to the hotel, change clothes and find the Playhouse Theatre in time for Act One. Which is doable when meetings aren't overrunning by three hours. He’d sent Quinn home 30 minutes earlier, because she needed to find an outfit, but it left him in charge of clean up alone.

A pile of unopened mail sat at the edge of the desk, some addressed to him, the rest to the boys, so he began ripping them open to distract himself. Fan mail – staff announcement – meeting itinerary – fan mail – an envelope addressed to Ben Luvdall.

Kurt still didn't know who this friend of Nick's was, and the envelopes were arriving weekly these days. Set aside, he tore open the remaining mail, and went back to staring at the wall. 

Thump, thump, thump, went his foot against a metal desk leg. 6.25pm. He would have to wear his work clothes at this rate.

He shuddered at the thought. People would know. Well, perhaps he was being melodramatic there, but _he_ would know, and the thought alone made him feel completely uncomfortable.

His fingernail was tap, tap, tapping against the desk when voices finally came from the corridor. Bolting up from his seat, he watched from the entryway as a meticulously dressed group walked into the elevator.

Checking his watch (6.31pm), he deduced that if he skipped a shower, left his hair, threw on his outfit and ran, without tube delays he’d arrive at the Playhouse Theatre with minutes to spare. He acted quickly, locking the newly opened mail in his desk draw, tidying up the buffet table in the conference room, turned off the electrics and marched Wes’ laptop back to his office.

6.40pm. Shit, shit, shit. Kurt called a goodbye to the band and sprinted into the elevator. Pressed the button for the lobby. A hand obstructed the door before it closed.

“Kurt! Wait.”

Kurt’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. “Blaine, can it wait? I’m going to be late,” he said.

Blaine cocked his head, hand holding the door. “For what?”

“I’m seeing my ex b- a friend in Spamalot tonight,” Kurt fumbled, hoping Blaine didn’t catch the slip. “Except I forgot to pick up the outfit I laid out last night. I hoped I’d have more time to get back to the hotel and grab it, but if I’m going to make it for the start of the first act…”

“Come with me.”

Kurt shook his head in exasperation; did he have selective hearing? “Blaine, I just said-”

“-I know what you said. Come with me, I’ve got something for you.”

The boy was impervious to Kurt's glares it seemed. Staring after Blaine, he grumbled under his breath when his feet obeyed. Blaine slipped into the hall leading to both Quinn and Wes’s office space and veered around the flimsy wall partition, the one hiding Kurt’s small desk.

His mouth formed an O, intrigued by the garment bag which hadn’t been hanging on his coat peg five minutes ago. “What’s that?”

Blaine bopped up and down on his toes cutely, failing to withhold a widening grin. “Take a look.”

Curious fingers traced the zip line of the garment bag. Kurt tugged it down to reveal a very familiar waistcoat and shirt ensemble, one which had been ruined weeks before by Harmony Delgada and a caramel latte.

“What? How did you-?” Kurt spluttered.

“When you left the bathroom that day, they were on the floor still in the cubicle. I tried to get them dry cleaned, but apparently they were stained beyond help,” Blaine explained. His lip was turned up at the corner sweetly.

“So- so you _bought_ these?”

“Please don’t tell me it’s too much and you can’t take it,” Blaine pleaded. “I just know how much you value clothes, and I’ve seen you wear that waistcoat a few times, so I knew you loved it. I just made a few phone calls, that’s all. We get sent a lot from Alexander McQueen for events and stuff. They still had a few in their closet – Mmph!”

Kurt launched himself at Blaine, arms around his neck and barely withheld a joyful squeal.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. I love it. I can’t believe you-”

Words didn’t feel sufficient. Without thinking he cupped Blaine’s face in both hands and pressed one kiss to his left cheek, then his right, his forehead and his nose. His head caught up before he could humiliate himself further, and he sprung back as though burned.

 _Oh no, oh no, oh no_. His heart hammered against his throat in time with his inner monologue. _What did I just-?_

“Sorry,” he squeaked. “I didn’t mean to… maul your face. I just- thank you.” Kurt ducked his head when he realized that not only were Blaine’s hazel eyes wide and glazed over, but they’d darkened considerably; milk chocolate now instead of golden.

“No, no,” Blaine said weakly. “I – I would have gone sooner if I’d known you’d react like that.” He brushed his curls down at the back awkwardly. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Thank you,” Kurt said, his smile warm, grateful. “This is new.” He traced a finger over the bowtie around Blaine’s neck hesitantly. It was light blue with little penguins on it.

“I… found it in a shop the other day. Do you like it?”

“Love it,” Kurt said. “Very Christmassy. Even if it is July.”

“Penguins exist all year round,” Blaine scoffed.

“True.”

Belatedly, Kurt realized two things: He was still holding the bow tie between his fingers, and he'd inched closer to Blaine again, his breath tickling against Kurt’s chin. He dropped his fingers and took a step back.

“You better get dressed,” Blaine said quietly. “You’ll be late to see your… friend.”

“Oh, right.” Kurt lifted the garment bag off the hook. Before he left to change in the bathroom though, he paused in front of Blaine, lifted his chin with a finger from where it rested against his neck, and pressed another lingering kiss to Blaine's cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Blaine’s Adam’s apple bobbed slowly. “You’re welcome. Have fun.”

"Oh, wait." Kurt unlocked his desk draw to scoop Ben Luvdall's letter out. "Can you pass this onto Nick, please? It's for his friend again."

"Letters for this guy are still coming to you?" Blaine asked.

"Yeah, I should probably talk to Nick," Kurt said distractedly. "I'm okay with it, I'd just like to know what I'm dealing with here."

"I'll talk to him for you," Blaine said firmly.

"Sure. I gotta' go. I'll see you later, kay?"

"Yeah, see you."

* * *

“Looking sharp, Hummel,” Quinn said when he met her outside the theatre. “He gave it to you?”

“Who, Blaine? Yes, just now.” He preened at the compliment and brushed invisible lint from his new waistcoat. He wished he’d had a better choice of accessories with him at the office, but he could go one night without a standout broach or pocket square.

[ ](http://imgur.com/RCXRQoG)

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him try this hard to get into someone’s pants,” she quipped.

“Oh, hush,” Kurt said.

Talking about Blaine’s interest in him was doing funny things to his nerves lately, setting them on edge, a gentle but insistent pulsing under his skin, a mouse skittering up and down his stomach. The less he thought about it, the easier it was to ignore.

“Thanks for inviting me, by the way,” she said. An usher showed them to their seats in the fifth row of the stalls. “It makes a nice change to sitting in my hotel room. And after... well, thanks.”

“How old is your daughter? I didn’t know you were a mom,” Kurt said carefully.

“Not too many people do.” Quinn sighed. “Her name’s Beth and she turned six a couple months ago.”

Kurt checked his watch; the show wasn’t due to start for another 10 minutes. “If you don’t mind me asking…”

“You want to know why she’s in foster care and not with me,” Quinn finished for him patiently. “It’s okay, everyone asks. Long story short, I fell pregnant when I was sixteen. I got my high school diploma thanks to my mother’s support, but getting into NYU made me realize the real challenges were just starting. I’m from Ohio, same as you, so Mom couldn’t babysit for me anymore. And even with the support available, I’d never be able to provide for her like I could if I committed to my career early.”

Quinn shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Kurt smiled in a way he hoped was encouraging, giving her his full attention.

“It was the hardest decision we ever made, putting her in foster care. Her dad and I chose Shelby because she’d always wanted a daughter.  She used to teach at our high school and moved to New York my senior year. We agreed she could raise Beth temporarily, while we focused on growing up, and college and starting careers.”

Quinn wiped at her cheek discretely. “When Wes hired me, I thought I’d be in New York more. I thought I’d move to a better position sooner, that I’d be able to make my hours more flexible by now.” She chuckled darkly. “Naïve, right?”

“We all are,” Kurt said softly. “What about her dad?"

“You know him, actually.” Quinn’s smile was wry. “I got Puckerman his job with the band when one of the original bodyguards was critically injured. A barrier fell after one of the dates on the world tour, and the fans got out of control.”

“Puckerman? You mean, Puck? Noah Puckerman?” Kurt thought back to the picture he’d seen of Beth, how her eyes had seemed familiar.

Quinn was saved from answering when the lights dimmed and the orchestra played the opening bars of the Overture. Kurt quickly checked through the playbill.

_Sir Lancelot the Homicidally Brave - Adam Crawford._

Kurt snorted. Of all the roles he’d anticipated Adam playing, Lancelot wasn't it. As the play progressed though he had to admit, with only a tiny twinge of regret for himself, Adam was good. By the song His Name is Lancelot in the Second Act, Kurt was crying with laughter.

The final chorus of Always Look On The Bright Side of Life ended the show, and Kurt and Quinn dawdled in the aisle until the crowd thinned and they could make their way to the stage. The steward by the stage door checked Kurt's name off a list and allowed them backstage.

Adam's dressing room door was wide open when Kurt tapped on the door frame, the man in question having already changed back into regular clothing. He spun around with a wet wipe covered in make-up held to his face.

"Kurt, you made it!" Adam greeted.

"Like I would’ve missed this," Kurt replied. "Lancelot, huh?"

Adam grinned bashfully. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Quinn. Quinn this is Adam. Listen, I’m really sorry but we’re up at 4am tomorrow, would it be okay if we met for coffee or something to catch up properly?" Kurt asked regretfully.

Adam’s smile fell. "Oh, sure, it's okay. When are you free?"

"Adam, are you coming?" A man's voice queried from the door and Kurt's spine tensed.

Jeremiah Flynn leaned, casual and at ease, against the door frame, blonde curls slightly damp, loose jeans and a fitted sweater clinging to his lean frame.

"Yeah, I'll be right out," Adam called. "Are you sure you guys can't come with us?"

"No, we've both got an early start," Kurt said, schooling his expression into one more genial, less like a deer caught in a hunter’s line of fire. "Hi," he said to Jeremiah lamely.

"Kurt Hummel, right?"

Kurt nodded and eyed him warily. How _did_ he know Kurt’s surname?

"You…. guys know each other?" Adam looked between them.

"Quinn and I go back a couple of years. Kurt and I met a few months ago," Jeremiah replied with a dismissive wave. "It was at the National Television Awards, right?"

"Really? What were you doing at the NTA's?" Adam asked Kurt.

"He's friends with my ex, Blaine Anderson."

Adam's eyebrows raised. "The Warblers guy?"

"Yes," Kurt said quietly.

"Wait, how do _you_ know Kurt?" Jeremiah asked Adam.

"He's- well we- we met in college in New York. NYADA. We were friends and..."

"We dated for over a year," Kurt finished.

"Oh... _this_ is the Kurt that got away…" Jeremiah trailed off thoughtfully.

Kurt wanted the ground to swallow him up. Considering the rapid drain of color from Adam's face, he did too. "No, no, Kurt and I are friends now," Adam insisted.

"Oh...” Jeremiah finally noticed the tension that had wandered into the room with him. “I’ll wait for you to finish and wait by the exit," Jeremiah said to Adam. He disappeared out the door, closing it behind him with a snap.

"I'm so sorry, he's really nosey," Adam spluttered, scrubbing his hands down his face.

"It's fine. I get it. My best friends are Rachel and Santana, remember?"

Adam chuckled. Of course he knew. “I better let you guys go. We’ll have that proper catch-up, right?” he asked hopefully.

“Definitely,” Kurt agreed.

Quinn waited until the door was closed between them to say, "Okay, now I see why you invited _me_. Blaine and besotted ex-boyfriend wouldn't have gone over well."

"He's not beso- shut up!" Kurt snapped and turned the corner leading to the backstage exit. Jeremiah stood before it, hands deep in his pockets.

"Kurt, can I have a word, please?" he asked.

"If this is about Blaine you can say it in front of me," Quinn said.

Jeremiah ignored her. "Kurt, please?"

The hairs on the back of Kurt's neck stood to attention telling him this was a bad idea. Still, he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot and appraised Quinn. "This won't take a second, I'll be out in a minute."

She huffed, zipped up her jacket and yanked the stage door open, closing it with a hard thud. Kurt suspected she only gave in so easily because she would force the details from him later. Fabulous.

"What's up?" he asked, posture straight, chin raised.

"Did you give my letter to Blaine?"

Kurt hesitated. "He received it," he said carefully. "Why?"

"He never contacted me about it, and..."

"Look, I appreciate that you have your reasons to contact him, but I'm not going to be your messenger boy if that's what you're angling for," Kurt replied. "I know he received the letter, but I don't know if he read it. You might want to try a more direct approach."

Jeremiah sniffed his frustration. "Right. You're right. It's just I don't want to have to involve the courts in this. I hoped he'd be more cooperative. I- I don't want to hurt him again, but if he refuses to talk to me, I'll have no choice-"

"Woah, slow down there,” Kurt interrupted, hands held aloft to placate him. “I don't know what this is about, and I don’t want you to tell me."

Jeremiah eyed him curiously, lip twisted up at the side. "How is he?"

“I’m sorry?”

"Blaine,” Jeremiah clarified. “How is he?”

“Good," Kurt answered hesitantly. "I mean he's busy, but-"

"I haven't seen him in the tabloids lately," Jeremiah fished.

"I haven't really looked."

"Kurt, I-” Jeremiah took a step forward and hooked his fingers around Kurt’s left shoulder. “I get that you'd rather I didn't involve you in this mess, but if I met you sometime this week, could I give you another letter?"

His thumb rubbed absently at the cotton of Kurt’s jacket, an action that forced Kurt to repress a foreboding shudder. No.

"Just this one time," Jeremiah pressed. "I promise I'll leave you alone after that. I just... I need closure, Kurt. And I can't get that unless he and I sort out our differences."

No. He’s not doing this again.

"Please?"

The last time he got involved Blaine didn’t talk to him for a month. Then again – Kurt nibbled his lip thoughtfully – he did want Jeremiah out of their lives for good.

He took a deep breath. “One time,” he said.

He was going to regret this, he could feel it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update was later than usual. I try and post every 4 days, but I had a bit of a personal meltdown last week, so it just wasn't happening. Thank you for all your comments and kudos in the meantime. I really appreciate the feedback.
> 
> Spamalot: The Musical was playing at the Playhouse Theatre, London until April 2014. The production is currently touring the UK, but this story is set in 2016. I don't know where they'll be playing 1 1/2 years from now, so I just made an educated guess.


	16. A Warbler's Warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating kicks up a notch this chapter. Smutty material ahead.

Kurt felt well within his rights to staple a rotten fish to Jeremiah’s forehead for involving him in his dispute with Blaine. Had he never heard of email? Kurt had experienced a mostly efficient service from the UK's Royal Mail service; a letter would arrive reliably at Blaine’s house with little expense.

Huffing for the seventh time that night, Kurt turned beneath the comforter onto his back. Now he thought about it, he can’t remember the last time Blaine went home even to pick up the mail. In fact, he’d never even asked _Kurt_ to pick it up for him, something Jeff, David and Nick regularly called on Kurt to do for them. So if Jeremiah had been sending letters to Blaine’s house, would he have seen them?

Stupid. The whole situation was stupid and he wasn’t hiding it from Blaine this time. If Jeremiah wanted to meet up, Kurt was letting Blaine know it was happening.

He forced himself from the comfort of his bed, slipped his shoes on and ascended to the top floor of the hotel in his sleep wear. Outside Blaine’s suite, Kurt’s knuckles were poised to knock when he heard something fragile smash from the other side of the door. He froze in place, heart hammering, breath held, ears strained for signs of distress.

“What was that?” he heard Blaine say.

“Just a vase.” Another male laughed. “Oh… right there!”

BANG! Kurt stumbled backwards into the wall behind him. Something was scrabbling against the wood of Blaine's door from the inside. He held his breath, half expecting the doorknob to twist and the two men inside to discover him lurking outside like a creep. He cursed under his breath and willed his blood vessels to stop their treacherous rise to the surface of his cheeks; clearly he should have called ahead.

A loud groan, guttural and unlike any he’d ever heard from Blaine, was muffled against the door and Kurt felt a large percentage of the blood not in his face head in a southerly direction. Mortified, he hurried back down the corridor.

“FUCK!”

The door to the elevator opened. Kurt peered back down the corridor in disbelief. The walls were thick at The Ritz, though apparently not thick enough; he felt for the poor people trying to sleep on this floor.

In fact…

Kurt would later insist he didn’t know what possessed him. He rapped his knuckles three times against Blaine’s door, deciding it was within everyone’s best interests to at least inform them of their volume.

“Did you call room service?” The unfamiliar male murmured.

“No… it’s probably my manager. Shit… there! He never – ahhh – leaves me alone,” Blaine replied.

“It’s Kurt, actually,” he called out, and crossed his arms, unimpressed. He sucked his teeth in satisfaction when Blaine swore and stumbled against the other side of the door.

“I- Kurt, I- I’m kind of busy,” he stammered.

“I can hear that,” said Kurt coldly.

“Who’s Kurt?”

“Our assistant.”

“Tell him to fuck off then.”

 _It’ll be the last thing you ever do, Blaine Anderson_ , Kurt grumbled silently.

The door eased open a fraction and Blaine peered out. A hooded sweater was thrown over his torso. Any moisture in Kurt’s mouth sapped dry faster than the Nile on a midsummer afternoon, when he realized the hoodie was tenting above the lower hem, where Blaine’s erection rested against his belly button.

Kurt swallowed thickly.

“Hi, I- can it wait?” Blaine patted his wild hair down to no avail.

Kurt’s head snapped back up. “I saw Jeremiah tonight,” he blurted. _Smooth, Kurt._ “He was in the play and he cornered me.”

“I- oh.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right, it can wait.” Kurt backed away, the thrill of interrupting Blaine’s booty call overridden by the embarrassment of his own physical reaction to his colleague’s state of undress. He was acting like a spiteful teenager and not the twenty-three year old professional he was supposed to be.

“Kurt, go back to your room, please. I just need to sort something. I’ll be right with you, okay?”

Kurt nodded and hurried away. Once his own hotel room door was closed behind him, he found his way to the tiny bathroom. Fumbling with the drawstring of his sweatpants he tugged them down his hips, grasped his cock in shaking fingers and set a clumsy rhythm: Up, down, twist. Pre-come slid down his length and he licked his palm for extra lubrication and closed his eyes, moaned loudly, the fantasy playing out in his mind.

_Blaine has him pressed up against the door of his suite, mouth grazing over his neck. His talented tongue trails wetly up to his ear. Teeth scrape over the sensitive skin behind his lobe and Kurt shudders and digs his nails into Blaine’s bare back._

_“Do you want me?” Blaine whispers in his ear._

Kurt slid down the bathroom wall and spread his legs wide.

_In the fantasy, Kurt has wrapped his legs around Blaine’s waist allowing him to hold him up against the door and slot their hard, wet erections together._

_“Blaine,” Kurt whispers against his gaping mouth._

_Blaine holds him up easily. Hips undulate, Kurt hisses at the friction against his cock, held steady against the door, one hand slipping from Kurt’s ass to play with his balls, rolled gently between nimble fingers._

_“Want me to fuck you?” Blaine asks, voice rough._

_“Yes.”_

_Blaine’s mouth hovers over Kurt’s a moment, curled up in a satisfied smirk. “I knew you’d give in eventually, baby.”_

_Kurt’s cut off from replying by Blaine’s finger against his puckered hole._

Kurt yelled out his release, coming harder than he’d ever managed with just his hand before. Slumping against the wall of the tiled bathroom, he panted and curled up, rested his head against his knees. Shit. What did he just do? That was…

…Someone was knocking on his door.

Kurt wiped himself off and made sure his clothing was free of semen before heading clumsily to the door. With a breath to steady himself he allowed Blaine inside, thankfully dressed.

“Where’s your friend?” Kurt asked awkwardly.

“On his way out,” Blaine dismissed.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said, head bowed guiltily – both about the interruption and his behavior in the bathroom. Not that Blaine could ever know about the last part.

“No, no. How much did you hear? Actually don’t tell me.” Blaine grimaced. "Ignorance is bliss."

"Yeah." Kurt eyed him hesitantly.

"What did you mean about Jeremiah?" Blaine said. "Did he hurt you?”

Kurt frowned at the question. “No, he didn’t hurt me, he just, he was playing one of the knights in Spamalot tonight. I didn’t even notice him until he came into Adam’s dressing room, and made everything awkward.”

“Adam,” Blaine muttered to himself.

 “Jeremiah asked to speak with me alone.”

“About what?”

“The note he passed to me at the NTA’s. I told him to stop trying to get information out of me, but he asked if I could bring another to you. I said I would, just this once and after that no more,” Kurt explained.

“Kurt, please, don’t meet up with him.”

“Blaine, I,” Kurt considered his next words. “I’ll just grab the note and go, I promise.”

Blaine checked the time on his phone. “Look, it’s late and we’re up in three hours. Can we, I mean, we’ve got a short day tomorrow, right?”

Kurt nodded. A brief interview on Good Morning Britain, followed by brunch with the director chosen for their next video. The afternoon was wide open.

“I’ll wait around until you’re done for the day, we’ll grab a bite to eat and I’ll explain, okay?”

“Okay,” Kurt acquiesced. 

* * *

A bite to eat proved more difficult than anticipated the following afternoon, because the menu in the pub was made up of dishes Kurt had never heard of.

“What’s a Yorkshire pudding?” he queried.

“It’s a kind of batter, baked at a high temperature, usually in something circular, and it rises to look like a small bowl,” Blaine explained, glancing over the item on the menu. “The one you get here is covered in onion gravy and comes with mashed potato and Yorkshire sausages.”

Eyes flickering between the menu and Blaine, he asked, “And- and you call that a _pudding_?”

“There’s more than one type of pudding, Kurt.”

Kurt shot him a withering look. “… Toad in the Hole? I know the French eat frogs’ legs, but _toads_?”

Blaine laughed out loud joyfully. “No, that’s just the name of it. Toad in the Hole is actually sausages again, this time coated in the batter that makes a Yorkshire pudding. It’s cooked in a dish and served with gravy usually.”

“So, it’s the same as the other one, just in a different format?”

“Well, the Toad in the Hole doesn’t come with mash,” Blaine teased.

Kurt scoffed.

“Don’t hate on it until you’ve tried it.”

Hands held up in surrender, Kurt muttered the names of dishes. “… Chip butty, sausage butty, bacon butty…” He peeked at Blaine through his lashes.

He was being watched, a lopsided and fond smile trained on Kurt. Elbow on the table with his chin against the palm of his hand, Blaine drawled, “Just ask…” 

“What’s a butty?” Kurt mumbled, feeling stupider by the minute.

“It’s certainly not the fine thing you’re sitting on,” Blaine quipped with a salacious wink.

Goosebumps erupted up Kurt’s neck. He shivered pleasantly, the reminder of the Blaine in last night’s fantasy – holding him up, hands everywhere – still fresh in his mind. God, he’d spent all day trying to avoid looking at him, felt a jolt below his navel and a twitch in his pants every time he did so, and it was making his palms sweat and his mind react awkwardly to teasing he usually let go with a quip and a roll of the eyes.

“Are you cold?” Blaine asked.

The afternoon was so warm they’d chosen to seat themselves in the pub garden on a wooden bench. A dark blue umbrella protected the backs of their necks from the heat of the sun, despite a breeze that tickled their bare forearms, the hair on their heads writhing.

“No, I’m fine.” Kurt said.

“A butty is just a sandwich with either hot chips, bacon or sausage inside,” Blaine explained patiently.

Kurt wrinkled his nose. “Why don’t you just call it a sandwich then? Where does the ‘butty’ come into it?”

“From the butter you spread over the bread” Blaine said.

“So it’s designed to clog arteries?” Kurt deadpanned. “Don’t tell my dad about this. His cholesterol does not need the addition of butter to the fray when he makes a sandwich.”

Blaine huffed a breath. “Look, I’m going to have a fish finger sandwich, so how about you order one of the meals you’ve scoffed at and give it a go? If you don’t like it, I’ll take you to Pizza Hut or wherever. Okay?”

It’s not often that Blaine grew irritated with him these days. They’d been extra genial with one another since the first Jeremiah debacle, but Kurt sensed he was wearing his friend’s patience thin, so when he went up to the bar (seriously, where are the wait staff?) to order his food, he settled for the sausage butty, figuring if he didn’t like it, at least it was a sandwich he could take away and give to Jeff or Nick.

“So, about last night,” Kurt began when Blaine had returned from ordering his own food. “I know we talked a bit but, I'm still sorry I interrupted you’re, uh…”

Why was it so hard to say it out loud? He knew Blaine had one night stands, it was a joke between them. Bearing witness to it himself had made the subject deeply uncomfortable though, like Kurt had swallowed a lump of coal that lodged in his gut and refused to digest.

Blaine waved his apology aside. “It’s fine. I wasn’t really in to it, truth be told.”

“Didn’t sound that way,” Kurt said, and cringed at his own tone; bitter and accusatory.

“I’m a good actor,” Blaine shot back easily. “Strangers are becoming less and less appealing.”

“…Oh.”

They were silent for a while.

"You know you're better than that, right?" Kurt said.

"Better than what?"

"The one night stands," Kurt clarified. "I- I think you deserve better than what you're settling for."

Blaine exhaled heavily and rubbed his hand over his hair awkwardly. "Kurt, I haven't slept with anyone since before Ohio," he mumbled. "That guy who wrecked my trousers was the last to get even close to it."

"I... oh." But that was back in early May. He hadn't had a one night stand in two months? "Sorry, I- I didn't know."

"Last night was just... someone said something I didn't like and... he was there. We didn’t get that far. I-"

"Blaine, you don't have to explain yourself to me," Kurt said.

"Yes, I do." Blaine tipped from side to side in his seat. "I couldn't give a shit what anyone else thinks of me, but... you I do. And I know how you feel about casual sex. I don't want you to think less of me, and you’ve made it pretty clear that you do and-"

"Blaine. I don't like one night stands-"

"That's what I just said!"

"No, listen to me," Kurt snapped, leaning forward so he’s not overheard by the patrons around them. "You're right. I don't care for them. I think they're degrading, and you don't know how many diseases the other person has picked up. The one time I went home with a stranger... I felt like shit the next day. But that's just _me_. One rule doesn't suit everyone, and I don't want you to think I'm judging you for thinking differently. I’m sorry if I’ve been unfair to you about that."

"...What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you deserve better, because I can see that it doesn't make you happy,” Kurt clarified, shaking his head sadly. “I know bravado when I see it, Blaine. And I think you deserve to go home to a really nice guy who loves you, and only wants _you_. Not a quick fuck in a bathroom or whatever it is you do. I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, obviously, but..."

"No, you're right," Blaine interrupted. "I want more."

"Then stop looking in the wrong places," Kurt said passionately, taking Blaine's hand over the table. "You're allowed to be loved, Blaine."

Blaine was fascinated by their fingers, slotting his own hesitantly between Kurt's. "I don't need to look," he said. "I know who I want."

"Then, why not-"

"Because I can't have y... him."

Blaine caught Kurt's eye, and left him reeling from the intensity. His molten hazel eyes burned through Kurt's skin, leaving its mark deeper than any coffee cup thrown by a diva ever could. His tongue felt too big for his mouth and he swallowed thickly, willing his pulse to return to a normal state of rest.

Blaine withdrew his hand back into his lap and cleared his throat. “He’s manipulating you,” he said.

Kurt blinked in confusion. “I'm sorry, who?”

“Jeremiah.”

Ah. The topic is finally broached. “He’s not.”

“I guarantee he is. Oh, thank you.” Blaine smiled at the waitress placing their sandwiches on the table. She blushed, eyes only for him and Kurt rolled his own. Sometimes he forgot that Blaine was both handsome and famous. “I don’t know how to make you understand this without… he makes himself seem so genuine and concerned, like… like you’re the most important person in the world to him.”

Kurt cocked his head, his sausage butty left untouched. Blaine circled the bench to seat himself beside Kurt.

“The thing is… the thing is he likes playing games. I don’t know if he knows who you are to me or what, but nothing he has done or said has been without a purpose.”

Kurt bit his lip and appraised the boy before him. He’d felt, since Wes hired him, like strings too many people were allowed to tug had been attached to his wrists. Such is the life of an assistant, but it doesn’t end at work for him. The lines that yank his loyalties towards this frustrating, idiotic, beautiful boy, were not made from yarn; they were vines, thick and unyielding, stronger than any promises he could make to others. 

“Blaine, I’m not, like, attracted to him or anything,” Kurt argued weakly.

The man gave him the creeps, actually.

What if Jeremiah wasn’t bluffing though when he said Blaine’s lack of communication could hurt him in the long run? Sometimes people needed protecting from their own clumsy indecision, Blaine more than most given his occupation.

“Please, he’s not worth knowing, even in passing.” Blaine looked around covertly to make sure they weren’t being observed and cupped Kurt’s face in his warm palm.

Kurt jolted at the touch. The vine tightened its grip. “I- okay. Whatever you want.”

“Thank you.” Blaine dragged his plate over to take an enormous bite of his fish finger sandwich. That was all the cue Kurt needed to remember his own. He held the butty gingerly in his hands and took a delicate bite of a corner, making sure the piece had bread, sausage and butter combined.

“Oh my god, this is actually really good!”

Blaine grinned. “Try it with ketchup too.”

* * *

**Unknown (15:34): Hi Kurt. I got your number from Adam. When can we meet up? Jeremiah**

**Jeremiah (16:09): Hi, me again. I’m going to be in a pub called The Moon Under Water in Leicester Square on Thursday evening. I would be really grateful if you came. Thanks.**

**Jeremiah (21:56): Look, I promise I’ll leave you alone after this. Please? We’ll be there about 7ish.**

**Kurt (23:07): I’m working but I’ll see if I can swing by.**


	17. Meddlesome Miss Jones

Kurt had no intention of swinging by The Moon Under Water to see Jeremiah that Thursday. In fact, he was determined to make sure he didn’t have the time, so when he found himself with nothing to do after 4pm, his usual duties completed with uncharacteristic speed, he was more than happy to take up Mercedes’ offer to help her out that afternoon.

The Warblers were gearing up to begin promoting the single Harmony Delgada was supposed to collaborate on, and Mercedes and her boss Jan were running all over the place in preparation.

“Jan’s busy interviewing people for a short term internship with us,” Mercedes explained when Kurt followed her into their workshop. “But until she’s done, I’m pretty much being left to my own devices.”

“Why do you need the extra help?” he asked.

“They’re filming the music video for True Enough For You in two weeks, and the guy they’ve hired to direct has this really specific vision that requires at least five costume changes across the three days of filming,” she said, and chucked a folder on the work bench in front of him.

Kurt settled himself in his usual chair – he’d been spending more and more time with Mercedes to get his fix of lady chat and fashion – and opened the folder curiously.

“What’s in here?”

“The top pages are the concept pitches that were sent in by the director,” she explained. “The guys haven’t decided which ideas to throw out yet, so we usually brainstorm potential wardrobes at this stage to cover all bases. With Jan away it’s harder to make ideas flow,” she said.

“Which is where I come in?”

“Which is where my man comes in,” she said fondly and sat beside him, watching quietly as he read through the pitches and glanced over the storyboards which had already been drawn up.

“Why do some of these have storyboards and others don’t?” he asked.

“The guys have said yes to the sequences already story boarded. The rest are probably going to be cast out.” She rubbed her fingers over her temples tiredly.

“Hey, be glad the boys aren’t like Gaga, Katy Perry or Adam Lambert,” he teased. “You’d have a lot more work to do.”

“I actually kind of wish they would agree to being a little more imaginative with their wardrobe,” Mercedes admitted glumly. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my job. They’re really easy going about what we pick out for them, I just- I decided to go down this avenue because I loved the direction fashion was taking in the music industry. I wanted to work with Beyoncé and Katy Perry, the people who use fashion to personify the music. I imagined they'd love my ideas, hear me sing, insist I collaborate with them and before I know it I've got a fashion house of my own, a record deal and five Grammys behind me. With the exception of Jeff, who I know would happily be a little edgier, the others just don’t care for creative fashion choices.”

“We could always pitch something more creative to them,” Kurt suggested.

“I’ve tried.”

“Maybe you’re pitching it wrong...”

Mercedes placed her hands on her hips and nodded for him to continue. “Keep talking.”

He drummed his fingers on the workbench. “How much longer do you think they can get away with the school boy routine before it starts to get a little tired?” Kurt began.

She thought it over. "Now Trent has turned eighteen, maybe a year or so," she replied.

“Exactly. If they want to transition from teenage heartthrobs to adult recording artists that everyone takes seriously, they’re wardrobe needs to grow with them. No more school uniform-esque outfits.”

“You think we should ditch the blazers?”

“No, not right away,” Kurt reassured her. “I just- I don’t know, I feel like maybe they should stop being uniformly preppy and dress how they would on an actual night out.  It could help warm the audience up for creative concepts. If you explained to them how it would help them grow as artists, they might be a little more… receptive.”

“Or if you did it.” Mercedes smiled at him knowingly. “All you’ve got to do is work the flirt and Blaine would be on board."

"I'm not seducing Blaine into updating his wardrobe," Kurt cried.

"So you admit you could?" She yelped when he threw a pile of fabric swatches at her. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. For what it's worth though, I know you were all stuck on being a Broadway star, but you’d make an awesome stylist.”

“No I wouldn’t.” Kurt scoffed. “I don’t have the credentials for that.”

“Screw credentials, everyone knows it’s who you know and talent that gets you anywhere in this business, and baby, you’ve got both.”

“What are you up to?” Kurt eyed her shrewdly.

“Okay, I’ve been thinking about this for a while and, I really think you could do this,” Mercedes said. “I’ve talked to Jan and showed her what you helped me with at Wireless Festival. She agrees having you working with us would be great.”

Kurt blinked owlishly at her. “I don’t understand.”

Mercedes rolled her eyes. “We. Want. You. To. Help. Us. Out. Like, an internship but in between your actual duties, because Wes would have a fit if we outright stole you. You’re the longest assistant the boys have ever had. He’s not going to give you up easily. But if you were to transition naturally from assistant to assistant stylist, he wouldn’t be losing you.” She held her arms up in triumph. “It’s a win-win.”

“Mercedes, _you’re_ the assistant stylist,” Kurt pointed out.

“I won’t be forever. Sooner or later people will move on. When Jan leaves, she wants me to move up to her job, which will leave an opening for someone _really_ talented who knows the boys and would be an asset to the team.” Mercedes beamed at him. “I’d hire you now if I was in charge.”

“Because I helped you out for one day?” Kurt spluttered. “No, I- no. Thank you for the offer but I- I don’t think it would work. I barely have time for myself, let alone working with you too. I’d never sleep.”

Mercedes appraised him, stunned by his reluctance. Clearly she’d thought it would be an easy sell. “Okay,” she said eventually, and walked around the work bench to take the seat next to Kurt. “What gives?”

“I don’t understand the question,” he said guardedly.

“Why are you sabotaging yourself?”

“I’m not!” Kurt exclaimed. “I just don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Why?”

“Because I… my resume doesn't stand up against other people.”

“Bullshit,” she snapped, and narrowed her eyes. “You worked for _Vogue_. They don’t hire any idiot.”

“Oh, for the love of-” Kurt huffed loudly and turned his body to face her properly. “Why are you pushing this? I said no. Is that so hard to understand?”

“Yes, it is. I don’t get why you’re against the idea,” Mercedes retorted. “You’re talented, Kurt. I know you feel you’ve lost your way since college, but people in your position should be using this time to find what they actually _want_ to do.”

“Mercedes,” Kurt began.

“No, I’m talking!” she cut across. “You are in an entry level role. You’re not going to be their assistant the rest of your life. Sooner or later you need to think about where you want to be. I know your job doesn’t leave you much time to yourself, but what’s the harm in gaining experience while you have access to it?” she reasoned.

“But I don’t know where I want to end up!” Kurt snapped. “I thought I knew. Ever since I was a kid my plan was always Broadway. I trained for it, I built my whole life around it. I was rejected from NYADA first time around, but I kept at it because I was determined to get there anyway. And then I trained for four years only to be told even my _best_ would never be enough, because I would _never_ get out of the chorus.”

Kurt blinked back tears, reliving the pain those words had inflicted on him. 

“My best friend was cast as Fanny Bryce in the Broadway revival of Funny Girl her freshman year of college. She went out to LA and starred in a TV show. And yeah it tanked after one season, but she still gets roles. I was a flying monkey in Wicked when she was playing Nessa Rose on Broadway, but only because a cast member was injured and she pestered them into hiring me. Rachel’s just been cast as Miss Honey in Matilda: The Musical, and I’m picking up after five boys who won two Grammys last year, have two hit albums and another on the way.”

He wiped at his face.

“Honey…” Mercedes pulled a box of tissues out of nowhere and offered them to him. “You can’t compare yourself to other people. Just because the right opportunities found them earlier, doesn’t mean your calling isn’t right around the corner waiting for you to seize it. You’re too talented to give up on what you want. I don’t know if you want to perform on Broadway, become a stylist, design a fashion line or right a damn novel. Whatever you decide will happen though, because I will kick that white-boy butt of yours until you stop moping. I never thought you were the type to not even _try_.”

“I never used to be. Life in New York; working in a diner, missing auditions because no one would cover my shifts, feeling guilty because Rachel paid the lions share on our apartment while Santana and I scrabbled for change. It just wore me down.” Kurt trailed off. “What if what I choose isn’t the right way?”

“We’ll open another door and find a new path,” she replied, smiling sweetly. “You are too young to be this jaded, baby. You know, I spent three years selling CDs from the trunk of my car, before I realized I needed to consider other options too. Please, please think about helping me out? I’ll talk to Wes for you. Hell, I’ll talk to Blaine and he can talk to Wes, if that’s what it takes.”

“Why would Blaine talk to him? I’d have less time for the guys if I was helping you,” he asked suspiciously.

“Why wouldn’t he? Blaine gave me the idea in the first place.”

“He _told_ you to do this?” Kurt asked, affronted.

“No.” Mercedes rolled her eyes. “Put the claws away, Kurty Kat. He hasn’t mentioned anything. When you helped me at Wireless Festival, he said he should’ve known you’d be stylist material.”

Kurt deflated at that, mulling the idea over. Would he be a good stylist? Sure, he’d been keen on dressing himself to the latest fashions his whole life, and his internship at Vogue and the eventual part-time position he’d had throughout college had certainly proven his mettle when faced with the fashion industry. There was just so much responsibility that came with dressing other people. What if Wireless Festival was a fluke?

“I can hear you over-thinking from here, Kurt. Stop it,” Mercedes chided. 

“I’ll consider it, okay?"

“That’s all I’m asking.”

* * *

“Well, I think it’s a good idea,” David said, when Kurt brought up Mercedes’ idea during a rare night off.

David, Blaine, Jeff, Nick and Trent were gathered in Trent's suite with booze and movies. It was reminiscent of their boarding school days apparently and Kurt encouraged it. For all the time they spent together, it was rarely just to socialize. Kurt had been roped in when he'd purchased alcohol for the occasion. Three rum and Diet Coke’s later he felt loose, buzzed, not entirely disgusted by Jeff’s choice of movie.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve got my hands full with you lot.”

“Blaine, tell him he should help Mercedes out and see if he likes styling people.” David prodded Blaine on the back.

Rolling over on the carpet, Blaine stretched his arms over his head. “It’s an amazing idea,” he said.

"I already know I like styling people," Kurt said. "I used to give my toys and my dad makeovers all the time. My stepmother needs all the help she can get." He still sends her links to clothing, in the hope she'll take the hint and stop reverting back to the 80s.

“Of course you should do it, you fecking egit,” Nick piped up. “I know Wes calls your job 'babysitting', but we don’t _actually_ need you to hold our hands through everything.”

Phone buzzing in his pocket, Kurt passed Blaine the bottle that was out of his reach since rolling over, and studied the screen.

**Adam (21:34): Kurt! What are you doing tomorrow night? Me and a few friends will be in a pub in Hoxton if you want to tag along? Let me know**

He cocked his head thoughtfully. They were meant to be meeting the day before the band flew to Los Angeles to film the new video, but seeing Adam sooner would be nice.

**Kurt (21:35): I’ll be there.**

**Adam (21:36): Yay.**

“I meant to ask by the way, what’s going on about Harmony Delgada?” David asked.

“I have a settlement meeting at the offices next week,” Kurt replied, sipping from his glass. “Harmony will be there with her lawyer and a rep from her record company. I just have to bring myself, my lawyer and a witness apparently.”

“You going to take it?”

“The money? Thinking about it.”

“At least you could invest it in something useful,” David said with a sympathetic smile.

“Yeah.” It was true, but it didn’t make him feel better about being paid off.

Feeling something against his shoulder, he smiled fondly at the distraction that was Blaine, now sat up, nuzzling his nose tipsily against Kurt’s shoulder. He was warm, curly hair tickling Kurt’s neck. Kurt repressed a pleasant shudder.

“Your jumper’s cozy,” Blaine said.

“My what?”

“Sweater,” David supplied. He was smirking at Blaine.

Oh. “You sure it’s not just that Borat hair cushioning you,” Kurt joked. His hand fell to rest on Blaine’s neck, and his fingers played idly with the short hairs at the back.

“Don’t!” Trent groaned. “It took us years to convince him not to use a bottle of gel a day to flatten it.”

“Oh, that’s why you wear so much gel on stage?” Kurt asked.

“Keeping up the old image,” Blaine mumbled sleepily. “And I don’t have Borat hair.”

With a roll of the eyes, Kurt vowed to make sure Blaine knew his hair was adorable, be it an afro, a gelled helmet, or total baldness. 

* * *

When Kurt arrived in Hoxton the next evening, he felt a little funny, an odd niggle of unease. Not that he could work out why. Reacquainting with an old friend wasn’t cause for concern. Adam waved him over when he entered the pub and after a few brief introductions to his rowdy friends, some from the theater others not, the two settled in a corner, drinks in hand to catch up on one another’s lives since they split up in New York.

It was nice. Times with Adam were always nice.

An hour into their evening his nerves began to make sense. The door to the pub swung open, letting in the evening breeze and with it two of the last people Kurt wanted to see: Sebastian Smythe and Jeremiah Flynn. 

“You guys made it!” Adam called and shook their hands individually. “Kurt, you remember Jeremiah, of course. Have you met Sebastian?”

“Yes,” Kurt said, trying to arrange his mouth into a shape that resembled a smile.

“Princess!” Sebastian looked him up and down with a smirk. “You’re wearing boy clothes. Did you get lost in the wrong department?”

“Seb,” Jeremiah said sharply. “Leave him alone. Nice to see you again.” He smiled easily and pulled Kurt in for a hug, grazing his lips against Kurt’s cheek long enough for the sensation of a thousand spiders to crawl up his back and neck. He suppressed a shudder. 

“I’m good, how are you?” Kurt asked, jaw tight.

“Good thanks. We’ll get drinks and join you,” Jeremiah said, headed to the crowded bar with Sebastian at his rear.

“You never said they were coming,” Kurt said, wincing at his own sharp tone.

“Is that okay?" Adam asked. "Sorry, I know Jeremiah was a bit much last time and Sebastian’s…”

“An ass,” Kurt bit.

“Yeah…” Adam ducked his head resignedly. “They’re kind of a package deal at these things.”

“They’re dating?” Kurt asked, surprised.

“Uh, no.” Adam wrinkled his nose at the thought.

“Do you just know Jeremiah from the show?”

“No, the pair of them attended the same drama school as me,” Adam filled in. “Then Sebastian's modelling career took off, I moved to New York for NYADA and we lost touch, until Jeremiah was cast in Spamalot a couple of months ago.” He frowned at Kurt, who was apprehensively eyeing the bar. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Kurt said faintly. “Jeremiah just keeps trying to pass notes to me for his ex.”

“Blaine?”

“Hmmm. Its grating on my nerves. I had to change my number to get him to stop texting me. You know, after you gave it to him.”

Adam blanched at the cold glare he received. “So, that’s why you changed it? Sorry, I didn’t realize it was a big deal. I won’t pass on the new one if it’s a problem.”

“I would appreciate that, thanks.”

The air was awkward when Sebastian and Jeremiah returned with their drinks. Or perhaps it was just Kurt. Sipping his cocktail took up most of Kurt’s focus for the next 45 minutes, preferring to let the other three interact rather than join in on the banter between his ex-boyfriend and two people he’d rather forget existed.

Eventually his bladder began to ache. He excused himself and made his way into a cubicle in the bathroom, noting there were two men at the urinals. They may not know his sexuality, but he’d learned early on he was better off avoiding urinals. Homophobic accusations from drunk men in public bathrooms were awful.

The door opened and he heard the shuffle of two sets of feet, just as he was ready to flush. Unlocking the cubicle, he startled at Jeremiah's presence by the door.

Kurt smiled politely. “Oh, hi, I thought it was only me in here now.”

Jeremiah shrugged. “I wanted to talk to you.

“Okay.” Kurt was tipsy, but that peculiar feeling was nagging at his stomach again. He kept a close eye on Jeremiah in the mirror as he washed his hands and pulled a paper towel from the dispenser.

“You didn’t come last week,” Jeremiah began.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I had so much to do that I couldn’t get away.”

“I was beginning to think you were avoiding me,” Jeremiah admitted.

“No,” Kurt said too quickly. “I just had a lot to do.”

“So you said…” Jeremiah flicked his bangs out of his probing eyes. “You don’t like me.”

“I don’t know you,” Kurt replied. He threw the paper towel in the recycle bin and made to walk back to the door. Jeremiah stepped to the side, blocking him.

“Do you want to get to know me?” he asked.

That gave Kurt pause. Jeremiah was not so discreetly looking Kurt up and down with an approving smile. Kurt wished he’d worn looser pants.

“I – look, I said that I would pick up the note," Kurt began cautiously. "After that, I’m sorry, it would be too weird. I think it would be better if you stopped contacting me.”

Jeremiah appraised him, nose scrunched in distaste. “Your loyalty to Blaine is… touching.”

“Do you want me to give him the note or not?” Kurt asked, ignoring that comment.

“Actually, I’d like to get to know you.” Jeremiah stepped over the imaginary line marking Kurt’s personal space. “ _Really_ well.”

“… Thank you for the offer? But no. Look, I’ve got a pad of paper and a pen in my bag. You can write it out there.”

Jeremiah laughed. Loudly. “Are you really this stupid?”

Stupid was not a word Kurt associated with himself, but as Jeremiah stood before him, he began to wonder if perhaps this time he had been. If Adam’s inviting him hadn’t been his idea after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the cliffhanger! It's just how this and the next chapter ended up panning out.


	18. Mr Anderson's Tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm sorry for the cliffhanger last chapter. 
> 
> Trigger warning: Attempted non-con occurs within the first 600 words.

“Look, can we please just drop the bullshit?” Kurt said uneasily.

A shock of adrenaline was coursing through him. Had Jeremiah put Adam up to inviting him tonight? Lovely, sweet, gentle Adam who was jumping at any chance to reconcile with him and wouldn’t think his cast mate had an ulterior motive for doing so?

 _“The thing is, he likes playing games,”_ Blaine’s voice whispered. _“Nothing he has done or said to you has been without a purpose.”_

“Look, just hand it over and we can forget we ever had this conversation,” Kurt said, trying to clamp down on his growing panic. He felt queasy, his inner control freak uncomfortable with not knowing the direction this conversation was headed.

“Yeah… about that. Blaine called me the day after we last talked and I gave him all the details I was going to write in that note anyway, so, I’ve actually got nothing to give to you,” Jeremiah said. His eyes widened comically and he shrugged as if to say ‘whoops.’

Kurt pursed his lips and counted to ten in his head. “So you got Adam to invite me so you could do what, exactly?” he bit through gritted teeth. “As a joke? Well, ha-ha. Thank you _so_ much for wasting my time.”

“What’s the problem?" Jeremiah sneered. "It’s what you do for a living anyway, right? Pick up after Blaine and his buddies.”

“I -” Kurt blanched, thrown by the comment. “What?”

Jeremiah's mouth twisted up at the side. “To cut a long story short," he said slowly, "something never added up with yours and Blaine’s relationship. It was quite easy to work out once I realized you and Adam knew one another. He’s a lightweight. A couple of beers later and I knew about your work with The Warblers.”

Lies. He knew Kurt’s full name before they first spoke at the NTAs.

“Goodbye, Jeremiah,” Kurt said.

“You don’t want to stay?” Jeremiah asked, with a coy tilt of the head. He stepped closer.

“No, thank you.” Shoulders rising to his ears, Kurt’s arms wrapped around his stomach defensively. “I’d like to go, actually.” He slapped Jeremiah’s hand away when he tried to grasp Kurt’s waist.

“Come on, you’re gorgeous, I’m gorgeous. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Jeremiah coaxed.

“I really haven’t,” Kurt retorted coldly, and he would have made his way to the door, except Jeremiah got there first and leaned back against it. “Get out of the way.”

“One teensy little fuck?”

“No. Thank. You.”

Jeremiah flicked his dirty blonde hair out of his eyes. “Tell you what, blow me and you’re free to go.”

SMACK!

Jeremiah’s head knocked to the right with the force of Kurt’s palm against his left cheek. Pressing his hand to his stinging pink face, Jeremiah twisted his neck uncomfortably and glowered at Kurt, who was only too happy to meet his gaze with equal contempt.

“What the fuck is it with men like you?” Kurt bellowed. His heart was racing from finally, _finally_ releasing his frustration on a deserving victim. He'd had enough. Harmony Delgada and the jocks at school may have gotten away with treating him like a dispensable nobody, but there was no way in _hell_ he was about to let it happen again.

“Do you have a filter on the word ‘no’?" Kurt continued and stepped closer to Jeremiah, squaring his shoulders. "I don’t want to fuck you. I don’t want _you_ to fuck _me_. You’re repulsive. No. No. NO. Whatever this stupid game is you’re playing, I'm ending it. Move!”

He reached for the door handle but Jeremiah, with surprising strength, propelled Kurt back into the opposite wall, narrowly missing the hand dryer. Then Jeremiah was on him, pinning Kurt with his full weight, knee between his thighs.

“Get _off_ me!” Kurt spat.

“Shut up,” Jeremiah said, voice low, unbuckling his belt.

“Is this the only way you can get laid now?”

Jeremiah pressed his palm against Kurt’s mouth. “SHUT. UP.”

Kurt bit down on the flesh against his teeth. Jeremiah snatched his hand back with a growl and missed the knee swinging up into his groin. Kurt watched his eyes bug out of his skull. With a howl of pain, Jeremiah stooped low enough for Kurt to grab him by the top of the head and slam his nose into Kurt's knee with a satisfying crunch.

“No.”

Kurt watched Jeremiah to collapse to the floor, one hand pressed to his nose, the other cupping his balls.

“FUCK!” Jeremiah howled.

Not keen to give him a chance to retaliate, Kurt hurried past him to fumble for the door handle, yanked it open to run straight into Sebastian, who gawped at him before letting out a long sigh. Like he’d come across this scenario before, like Kurt's appearance had been altered from how he'd last seen him. And it had, Kurt realized with a surprised whimper; Jeremiah had ripped the top buttons off his shirt.

“What did he do?” Sebastian asked seriously.

Kurt straightened his back, chin raised. “Tell him if he touches me again I’ll do more damage.”

He’d made it to the far end of the corridor when Sebastian let out a low whistle. His head was inside the bathroom. 

“You did a number on him,” said Sebastian. “Not such a frightened little twink, eh?”

Not dignifying that comment with an answer, Kurt made his way unsteadily to the bar, where he was supplied with a shot of tequila and a Cosmopolitan. The barman eyed him curiously, but he adopted a false smile and willed his pounding heart to slow, for the mix of panic, disbelief and hatred knocking about in his mind to die down to a manageable thud. Kurt threw back the tequila to steady his nerves, slapping the lime back down on the bar before leaning his forehead against his palm.

He felt like an idiot. How did he end up in situations like this? Was there a message written on his forehead in invisible ink that read: Easy target?

His self-pity was short-lived. Adam nudged him in the side.

“Hey, there you are,” he said cheerily. He zeroed in on Kurt’s missing buttons and raised his eyebrows past his beanie hat. “Wait, what happened?”

Kurt fished his tiny straw around his Cosmopolitan uneasily. “You know how I told you Jeremiah wanted to give me a message?” Adam nodded. “Turns out the message wasn’t what I thought.”

He busied himself sipping while the cogs turned in Adam’s brain. He didn't want to repeat it out loud. Saying it would make it real. He needed it not to be. Just until the morning. Everything felt more manageable in the light of day. Adam’s jaw hung limp when he worked out what Kurt wasn't saying.

“Please tell me he didn’t?" he sputtered. Kurt did no such thing. "I’ll kill him!”

“Don’t,” Kurt exclaimed, and held him by the arm to prevent him going into the bathroom. “I’m fine. I took care of it.”

“You can’t just-”

“Leave it,” Kurt said sternly. “You still work with him. There’s no point making an enemy on my account.”

“Sod that, Kurt,” he exclaimed. “He just- I just can't believe he'd- he really did that?”

Kurt nodded hesitantly. "He didn't get very far."

An involuntary shiver coursed down his spine, tingly and foreboding. What if he had?

He brushed aside that thought, startling when he saw Sebastian walk by, hand tight at the scruff of Jeremiah’s jacket. He steered his friend through the throngs of people and shoved him out the front door, pausing only to look over his shoulder and catch Kurt’s eye.

Looking away, Kurt faked a tight smile and nudged Adam’s drink towards him. “Come on, drink up. I can handle myself. His bruised testicles are testament to that.”

Adam chocked on a swig and faced the ground to cough up his lungs. The front door closed, allowing Kurt to breathe a little easier.   

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Kurt lied. “I just want to go home.”

Surveying him like he knew Kurt was lying, Adam sighed loudly. “Look, can I at least make sure you get back to your hotel?” he asked. “It’s my fault you’re here.”

“No, thank you. I’m not a damsel in distress.”

“I never said you were!”

“Then don’t treat me like one,” Kurt challenged.

Adam bit his lip shyly. “You never used to mind when I walked you home.”

Kurt’s glare softened. “That was different,” he said. “We were together then.”

“Twinkle!” Sebastian was back.

Kurt scowled at the bar. He'd hoped meerkat face had disappeared.

“Where’s Jeremiah?” Adam demanded.

“Oh, for the love of-” Kurt aimed a glare at Adam that had the recipient holding his hands up in placation. “Just stop it.”

“In a cab home,” Sebastian responded, attracting the barman's attention. “I kind of had to, what with Blaine being on his way.”

Kurt blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

Sebastian grimaced sheepishly. “I've been wondering why you're here without Blaine all night, so when you and Jeremiah went into the bathroom, I texted him.”

Kurt stared at Sebastian incredulously. "I don't understand. Why shouldn’t I go somewhere without Blaine?" Kurt thought back to the first time they met and his eyes widened. "Oh, wait, you think we're a couple, don't you?"

Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "You're not?"

"No?"

"Could have fooled me." Sebastian accepted a shot from the barman. "You were his date at the NTA’s, acting all cozy and shit. And then Blaine asked me f..."

"Blaine asked you what?"

"Nothing. So he's not fucking you? Seriously?"

"I'm the Warblers assistant," Kurt explained haughtily. "How do you not know that? You're dad runs the record company."

"Okay, firstly, he fucks all his assistants,” Sebastian shot back. “Even the straight ones. And secondly, I don't have access to company information, princess. Think what you want of me, but my dad needed integrity to survive the blow hole that's the international music industry."

"Alright, sorry. I didn't mean to imply anything. I've never even met the man," Kurt placated.

"Whatever. Why were you cozying up to Blaine if you're not his boyfriend? You a fame whore?"

"His manager told me to be his plus one because there was a seating plan issue," Kurt replied angrily. "I'm not using him, and we're not dating. Not that it's any of your business."

"You're not?" Adam asked quietly, and Kurt turned. Not only had he forgotten the man was beside him, his tone was so... hopeful.

"No," he said carefully.

"Do you want to be?"

"I don't know," Kurt admitted. Adam's eyes glimmered a little less at his admission. "At least Blaine doesn’t know what just happened,” Kurt changed the subject awkwardly. “Small mercies.”

"Actually he does.” Sebastian passed his shot glass across the bar and ordered a beer. 

“...You just told him, didn’t you?” Kurt’s voice was low, disbelieving. Sebastian’s silence was confirmation. “You are such a jerk!”

“Oi, I thought he was your boyfriend," Sebastian shot back. "I was doing the right thing. And how about you be a little nicer to the guy who marched your attacker out the door and came back to make sure you were alright, princess.”

Kurt’s answering laugh was humorless. “You’re right, thank you _so_ much for having your moral compass pointing north. How can you even be friends with him, knowing he’s capable of _that_?”

Sebastian took a generous swig of his beer and wiped his mouth. “I guess I’m just a poor judge of character. Kind of like the guy who walked into a bathroom with him. Alone.” Sitting on a stool, he folded his leg over the other loosely and appraised Kurt with a smirk.

“I didn’t walk in there with him, he followed me in!” Kurt snapped. “Jerk.”

* * *

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked once they had driven for 20 minutes and parked the car.

Kurt shook his head. No, he most certainly was not.

Blaine had been surprisingly calm when he arrived at the pub. Having expected him to come in with his temper at full throttle, Kurt instead startled when he hurried over, hazel eyes wide with concern, and pulled him into a fierce, shaky hug. His fingers pressed and squeezed into Kurt’s shoulder, his other hand possessive at his waist.

“I’m okay,” Kurt whispered in his ear. “He’s not here. I’m okay.”

"I'm sorry," he breathed against Kurt's neck.

Kurt looked him over in confusion. "Hey, no. It's not your fault."

"Yes it is," Blaine replied, eyes swimming with unshed tears. "It is. He did this because of me. I fucked up. I-"

“Shhh,” Kurt cooed.

He said his goodbyes to Adam, who looked between Kurt and Blaine indiscernibly and made a hasty exit, while Blaine talked furiously with Sebastian in a corner. Then he allowed himself to be steered into the front passenger seat of the car Blaine drove to find him.

Now they were parked the pleasant buzz of alcohol was lessening, the magnitude of his narrow escape taking hold.

Out of every situation he'd been shoved into, near sexual assault in a public bathroom topped the list. Worse than the day Dave Karofsky forced a kiss on him. Beyond being voted Prom Queen. Even having slushies and coffee thrown at him seemed like a cake walk in comparison.

"I'm an idiot," Kurt moaned, head back against the headrest. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed time would rewind itself.

"No, you're not. You were just taken in by one," Blaine said darkly.

"You know how they say: 'Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me'?"

Blaine hummed his assent.

"It's _such_ a lie." Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose. "The first is just as much your fault as the second time. It's a scapegoat people use to feel better about their fuck-ups, when they may as well just look themselves in the eye and admit the mistake. This is me admitting I screwed up. I should have realized something was wrong."

The click of a seat belt, then another, and Kurt was tugged forwards until his head fell to rest on Blaine's chest. Kurt let the air puff from his mouth tiredly and his stomach jumped when Blaine's hand curled to the back of his neck, his fingers stroking through Kurt’s hair. 

"Is this okay?" Blaine asked, other hand hesitant to rest on Kurt's shoulder until Kurt wrapped his own arm around Blaine's back and held him there.

"Fine," he mumbled.

More than fine, actually.

"At least you can admit when you mess up," Blaine reasoned, after a minute or two of silence. "I rarely do that."

Kurt nudged his nose against Blaine’s chest. "Yes you do."

"Don't."

"You're doing it now."

Blaine scoffed, but Kurt felt his smile against the top of his head when he pressed his lips there briefly. Kurt shuddered and tried not to read too much into the gesture. That was a slippery, slippery slide he can't climb back up once he's descended.

"Come on, follow me."

Kurt hadn't paid any attention to the road, so he didn't know they were back at the hotel until he left the car on the passenger side and allowed himself to be steered into the lobby. He didn't say a word when Blaine pressed the number for his own floor in the elevator instead of Kurt's. He also let himself enjoy being held around the waist, and didn't read into the fact that Blaine kept pressing reassuring kisses into his hair. Nor did he dwell on the realization they probably shouldn't be as reassuring as they were.

The doors pinged open. Blaine led Kurt down the corridor to his suite, gesturing for Kurt to enter ahead of him. Kurt looked around once the door was closed behind them and locked. It certainly paid to be the lead singer of a band, he mused. Kurt's room was just that – a room, with a small bathroom attached like an afterthought. Blaine's suite by comparison had a large living space, complete with a 60 inch HD plasma TV, a matching sofa and two armchairs, and a grand mini bar. And the view! Kurt’s mouth opened in awe: London was dazzling from this view point. A set of sliding doors sat to the side, which Kurt assumed hid the master bedroom and adjoining bathroom from view.

Kurt's inventory was interrupted by Blaine. He stepped closer to Kurt, hazel eyes gentle and attentive, to cup his cheeks gently. "You okay?"

Kurt yawned and nodded. The night’s events had thoroughly worn him out and the alcohol from earlier had worn off and manifested itself in a dull ache between his eyes.

"You need some sleep." Blaine steered him by the wrist gently through the double doors.

Kurt would have gawped at the size of the room (and the king sized bed) if he wasn't falling asleep on his feet. He also would have probably thought twice, three times even, about allowing Blaine to walk him to the bed and nudge him onto it. There was nothing insistent about Blaine though; no barely veiled innuendos or propositions. So Kurt didn't question it when he pressed a pair of sweats and a t-shirt into his hand, didn't hesitate to change into them, and smiled softly at the back of Blaine's head, because he had turned to allow Kurt his dignity. Blaine pulled the duvet back and coaxed Kurt under the covers. Finally he relaxed.

“Blaine?” Kurt mumbled sleepily.

“Shhh, just get some rest, okay?” Blaine whispered.

Kurt heard Blaine shuffle around the bedroom, opening and closing draws to pull his bed clothes out and dress himself. Kurt gulped and did his best not to look, catching a glimpse of Blaine’s strong, toned back before a t-shirt was pulled down his torso. He slipped his eyes closed guiltily with a sigh. One look won’t hurt… or two. So long as it doesn’t happen too frequently.

Kurt must have nodded off long enough for Blaine to head to the bathroom and brush his teeth, because when he next came to, a hand was ghosting through his hair releasing its mold of hairspray, and he could smell mint faintly. He blinked his bleary eyes open. Blaine was crouched beside him.

“A glass of water's on the dresser," he whispered. "Night, Kurt.”

Kurt hummed and nuzzled his eyes into the pillow. Blaine dragged a blue blanket towards the door.

“You can sleep here, Blaine,” Kurt said, squinting through his heavy eyelids.

“No, no, the couch is fine.”

“Bed’s comfier than the couch.” Kurt turned onto his back, arched, and settled under the duvet.

The room was silent for a minute. Kurt thought Blaine might have tiptoed into the lounge, but then soft footfalls padded across to the other side of the double bed, and the duvet gently lifted so Blaine could slide beneath it.

“See… that wasn’t… so hard…” Kurt yawned.

Blaine chuckled and switched the lamp off.

"Blaine?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you ever see the letter from Jeremiah?" Kurt felt the body next to him stiffen.

"Yes."

"Was it bad?"

"...He wants money," Blaine said after a long hesitation. "My house... we bought it together. Well, it was my house first. I bought it when the first Warblers album hit number one. It's too big for me, to be honest. I couldn't afford it. But I let my brother talk me into buying it."

Kurt adjusted so he could see Blaine’s outline in the dark.

"My parents told me to get a mortgage as a safety net, just in case we were one-hit-wonders. This was in the early days of my relationship with Jeremiah. When we went on our world tour after the second album, I was away for eight months while he was stuck here filming. We weren’t… good at long distance. When I got back all he wanted to talk about was moving in with me. 'Wouldn't it be amazing if we both owned this house, Blaine? We could start our life together.' I'd just turned eighteen. The hopeless romantic in me _melted_ and I didn't think it over properly."

"Honey, you don't have to tell me," Kurt asked quietly.

"I want to," Blaine said. "It turned out he'd been cheating on me with one of his cast mates the whole time I was away, but I didn't know that when he moved in. He paid off my mortgage and for about a month it was like a honeymoon... until I caught him fucking Max in my bed."

Kurt reached out and ran his palm soothingly down Blaine's spine over his t-shirt.

"I threw him out, took his name off the property, and because our second album had done so well, and we had all these merchandising deals, I had enough money to just pay his half back and move on from the whole ordeal."

"Why does he still want money if you've moved on then?" Kurt asked.

"...Because I never gave him his money," Blaine whispered, burrowing his head into his pillow.

"But, I thought you sa-"

"-I said I have enough money to pay him back," Blaine corrected. "But when it came to it, I just... I was so _angry_ with him. He treated me like a gullible child. And I felt like such an idiot because I fell for everything he said. I actually thought he loved me. How stupid is that? When really I was just his dirty little secret. His money is still sat in my savings account, and when I saw Max Shockley at an after party, I convinced him to fuck me and made sure Jeremiah found out."

"You wanted to hurt him like he hurt you," Kurt summarized. "I guess I can understand, even if I don’t approve." And he did. He was spiteful enough himself to do something stupid in a temper.

"The only reason I've gotten away with keeping his money so long, is because he refuses to file a lawsuit against me," Blaine continued. "The letter you gave to Wes claims he has pictures and information he'll sell to the press if I don't cooperate with him. That's why I was so angry with you when it didn't come straight to me. Wes didn't know what I'd done, and I was too scared to tell him and prove him right; that I'm just a clueless child who needs protecting from myself."

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt breathed. "Can I ask why he won't approach you with a lawsuit?"

"Because lawsuits attract media attention," Blaine explained. "Image is everything to him and he has enough trouble with his. You know the soap opera he was on?”

“Hollyoaks?”

“They fired him. That must be why he’s doing theater right now."

"And why he's been on your case about money," Kurt added.

"Yeah." Blaine chuckled darkly. "He claims he 'didn’t want to renew his contract' with them, but he had two years left on the show when we split up. That was a year ago. Newspapers over here are awful. If they got wind of his being sacked _and_ a lawsuit against me, they'd start asking questions. He's always been careless so it would be too easy to dig up the kind of information he doesn't want out there."

Kurt nodded, even if Blaine couldn’t see it. "Can I ask you something?"

"… Yes."

"Is he in the closet?"

"Yes." Kurt could feel Blaine's eyes seeking him out in the dark. "You noticed the lack of press about us, huh?"

"After it was pointed out to me."

"I was his gullible closet twink," Blaine said bitterly.

"You're not, Blaine. He chose to pull the wool over the eyes of an eighteen-year-old, when he's... how old is he?"

"Twenty-seven."

"So he was twenty-six when he did this to you? To a boy eight years younger, fresh out of school?" Kurt folded his arms over his chest and stared up at the ceiling. He could just make the artful swirls out now his eyes had adjusted. "He deserves to be chewed out by the media."

"Kurt, I -" Blaine cut off, rubbing a thumb over Kurt’s hipbone. “I don’t want any of this to be public knowledge."

"Blaine, you can't possibly defend him."

"I'm not!" Blaine exclaimed. "Especially after what he tried to do to you. Kurt, he's fucking dead to me. You have no idea how much I want to hurt him, but… I just can’t stoop to his level. He tried to hurt you because I threatened to use information against him, and he knew he could get to me through you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Sebastian thought you were my boyfriend,” Blaine said.

“So, Jeremiah thought he was hurting your boyfriend,” Kurt summarized, “and getting back at you for sleeping with Max?”

“I never should’ve threatened to ‘out’ him,” Blaine said, gripping the duvet in his left fist. “I was never going to act on that threat, but he went after me first. What was I supposed to do, lie down and take it?”

“Do you want to go to the press about him now?” Kurt asked cautiously.

Blaine hesitated. “No. I'd be no better than him if I went to the press. And he would just tell everyone I was a conniving bastard who stole his money. Neither of us will come out of this looking good."

Kurt burrowed down further. "Is he the reason you don't like going back to your house?"

Blaine nodded. “Too many bad memories.” A short silence. “I'll put the house on the market. Give him the money back. It's not worth holding onto a grudge if he's going after the people I lo-like... I'm sorry he involved you."

"Sssfine." Kurt sighed. He blinked sleepily and trailed his fingers up Blaine’s cheek, feeling like he was one step closer to knowing him. The real him. Not Blaine Warbler, tabloid fodder, singing sensation and bed hopping extraordinaire.

“What?” Blaine whispered.

“Nothing,” Kurt said. He dropped his hand to the mattress, eyes closing. “I just forget sometimes that you’re nineteen. You’ve dealt with so much. You amaze me…”

He could feel the warmth of the body next to him, despite the distance Blaine had left between them, and as he slowly slipped into unconsciousness a pair of soft lips pressed against his forehead. But he probably imagined the ghost of touch to his fingertips, and the feeling that eyes were tracing his face. He slept. Safe.


	19. Caught On Camera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely feedback. I'm so glad you guys reacted positively to the last chapter. I was genuinely concerned and thought it might not be great. I need to make time to respond to your comments asap.

Squeezing his eyes shut against the morning sunshine, Kurt nuzzled his face into his pillow. But wait – he inhaled deeply – the sheets smelled of honey, fresh grass, a hint of cinnamon, and a familiar aftershave, different to what he'd grown accustomed to in his hotel room but no less appealing. Sweatpants scratched against his skin and clung to his hips. And when he stretched out, there was room to do so, like he lay in a double bed and not his assigned single.

That's when he remembered. Jeremiah and humiliation. A gentle embrace. The mystery behind Blaine’s former relationship whispered into the night.

Blaine. Kurt sat up and took in his surroundings blearily. Right, he'd slept in Blaine's suite instead of his own room, slumbered next to the singer at his own insistence. The man in question was perched cross-legged at the end of the bed, bent over his tablet with hair rumpled from rest, curlier than Kurt had ever seen it. He wanted to touch it.

"Morning," Blaine said. "Sleep well?"

Kurt scrubbed his hand down his face and smacked his lips. "Actually, I did. Sorry I hijacked your bed."

Blaine shrugged, turning to give him a small smile. "For once it beats waking up to a complete stranger."

Kurt ignored that comment, lest the knot in his stomach tightened any further.

“How are you feeling?” Blaine asked.

“I’m okay. Really,” he insisted, balling the duvet up in his hands like a shield against Blaine’s furrowed brows and probing gaze. “Last night was… horrible. But it’s over. I’d like to forget it ever happened. What are you doing?” he asked, leaning over for a glimpse at Blaine’s tablet.

“Scanning social media,” Blaine replied and surreptitiously hid the screen.

Kurt caught a glimpse of the interface of Tumblr, familiar to him because he’d kept a close eye on the relevant Warbler tags on behalf of Canary Records for months. Obviously they had an entire publicity team doing the same thing, but Wes preferred for someone close to the boys to do it too.

“Do you do that often?”

“Lately,” said Blaine with a shrug. “Not usually this closely.”

“So, why the extra attention?”

“Quinn called this morning about some pictures of me with someone,” said Blaine vaguely. “And before you ask: Yes, she did call you first, but I put your phone on silent to let you sleep.”

“How did you unlock my p- wait, what? Blaine, I can’t do that.” Kurt scrambled for his phone on the bedside table and groaned. “I’ve got fifteen messages from Wes and Quinn. They’re going to kill me.”

“No, they’re not. I spoke to Wes earlier and explained what I did and why. Not all the details,” Blaine added hastily when Kurt’s mouth opened furiously. “Just that you’d had a bad night and I was making sure you were okay.”

“Do they know I’m in your room?”

“Well, they definitely know you’re not in yours. Quinn knocked on your door a few hours ago, and called me when you didn’t answer.”

“Oh… god.”

“Kurt?” Blaine set the tablet down on the comforter and cocked his head. “What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter?” Kurt hissed incredulously. “I’ve been in your room all night. I slept in your bed. They’re going to think that we- that we-” A blush climbed his neck to the apples of his cheeks. “Wes is going to fire me!”

“No he won’t,” Blaine soothed. “If they ask I’ll tell them I didn’t want to leave you on your own (which is true) so I let you sleep in my room. I crashed on the couch out there. It’s not a big lie, and Wes will believe me.”

“Hmmm.”

Kurt ground his teeth together, not placated in the slightest. Blaine was looking at the situation through rose-tinted glasses. Bypassing the work related texts, he read one from his dad.

**Dad (05.43am): Something you want to tell me, kiddo?**

It was late in the evening in Ohio when Burt sent that. Puzzled, Kurt shrugged it off and tossed his phone aside. “Who’s the latest guy then?”

“You.”

Kurt was up in an instant, crawling the length of the bed to peer over Blaine’s shoulder at pictures of the two of them from the night before.

The vague outline of Kurt’s head pressed to Blaine’s chest in the car, could be seen in the first photo; a shot of them walking into the hotel; Blaine shielding Kurt from view in another, arm around his waist. Kurt took the tablet from Blaine and read the accompanying article numbly.

* * *

**_The Metro_ **

**_Blaine Anderson caught with mystery man_ **

_Who else has missed their weekly dose of Blaine Anderson scandal? We certainly have! The Warblers leading man has been oddly quiet in the last few months, but that changed last night when he was caught entering a posh London hotel with a mystery man in tow!_

_Who is Blaine’s midnight rendezvous? Well, remember that time he was caught with a tall, handsome stranger who turned out to be his gorgeous brother Cooper Anderson? This time around the handsome stranger is Kurt Hummel, The Warblers’ PA._

_But wait, they seem awfully close for an employer and employee…_

_As the pictures show, Anderson drove the pair to the hotel the band are currently staying in last night, handed the keys off, and lead a visibly upset Hummel through the front doors, away from spying eyes._

_A friend comforting a friend, or something more?_

_Click our gallery of photos._

* * *

“Oh, god,” said Kurt. This was bad. This was very bad.

“Hey, it’s all just speculation. The Kurt Hummel tag on Tumblr is buzzing though.” Blaine smirked at Kurt's tilt of the head.  "Wait, you’ve never looked in your tag?”

“I have a tag? Why would I look myself up? I’m not famous," Kurt asked in genuine befuddlement.

Blaine cracked a sheepish smile. “Right. Okay, um… fans research the people we work with,” he explained. “It’s not just Warblers fans. All devoted fan bases seem to do it. Like, Quinn has a tag because she works closely with us. I’m guessing you have a tag because people spotted you in the background of event videos.”

Kurt was barely listening, engrossed in scrolling through his tag. They knew a lot more than he would expect: His date of birth, his role at Vogue.com, his schooling information. Some details that were on his personal blog, and others that were too private to have been found on the internet. Apparently they'd found some New Directions videos from his high school show choir days. There were even gifs of him walking behind the boys at press events.

“How was I not aware of this?” Kurt spluttered. “I go through Warbler tags all the time.”

“You don’t have a personal Twitter account, so no one has directly sent this stuff to you, I guess. Plus, comments are disabled on your personal blog,” Blaine said, taking the tablet back from Kurt and swiping his finger a few times.

 _Blaine looks at my blog?_ Kurt wondered silently.

“There’s actually something else you should see...”

Blaine typed the word ‘klaine’ into the search bar and Kurt’s jaw dropped. Pages upon pages of speculation, manipulated images and arguments over the status of his and Blaine’s relationship littered the tag. Heart thudding in his throat, Kurt clicked one of the Read More's, intrigued.

* * *

**_What do we know about Klaine after today?_ **

_Kurt Hummel has been appearing in the background of Warbler events for six months now._

_He was born and raised in Ohio in the US, where he attended McKinley High School in Lima. He was an active member of the school’s glee and drama clubs, so clearly he loves performing like Blaine. They must have a lot to talk about._

[ ](http://imgur.com/fHWXGKq)

_Kurt’s high school graduation – photo taken from Kurt’s blog. The small girl in the front is Broadway actress Rachel Berry. The tall dude is his step brother. The Latina is Santana Lopez, she’s in a lot of the show choir videos we’ve seen._

_Kurt is a countertenor. How much you wanna bet they sound amazing when they sing a duet?_

_He graduated from the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts in the summer of 2015, with a Bachelor of Arts in Musical Theatre and Performance. After taking extra classes, he graduated a year early. We all know Blaine is a huge lover of musicals._

[ ](http://imgur.com/GEFrTsV)

_It was confirmed last night that he works as a PA for the band. Remember we weren’t sure he was staff until we saw him wearing that red wristband at the National Television Awards._

_He turned 23 years old in May, and confirmed on his blog that he is gay. Older man EEEEEP!_

_He sticks by Blaine a lot more than the other Warblers. They clearly enjoy hanging out together outside of work. Remember when @KaseyWarbling spotted them in MnMs world in Leicester Square? The guys weren’t working that day. They just wanted to hang out._

[ ](http://imgur.com/n2tmRgG)

_I don’t care what any y’all say, they are definitely close. The photos from last night prove this. Kurt seemed upset and Blaine was extremely protective of him. You don’t act that way with a person you don’t like. Notice the possessive grip he has on Kurt’s waist in the newest photos._

_Verdict: KLAINE IS SO ON!_

* * *

"They think we're dating," Kurt realized aloud, his breath shortening, lump rising in his throat. "Now I'm definitely fired."

"No you're not, Wes knows the circumstances… I mean, clearly some of the fans do think we’re..." Blaine rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, clearing his throat. He took the tablet back from Kurt and typed something else in, his smile becoming mischievous.

“What?” Kurt scowled. He was enjoying this a little too much.

"You wanna’ see the best part?" Blaine asked.

He turned the screen. Kurt had to blink a few times to comprehend what he was seeing. Then, with a gasp he bypassed pink in favor of turning bright scarlet in the cheeks.

"Is that-?"

"-The Kurt Hummel Ass Appreciation tag," Blaine exclaimed proudly.

"But I- what?"

Blaine gave a fond cock of the head. "I told you, you're sexy."

Kurt squeaked in embarrassment and dived under the covers, burrowing down. He was never leaving. Well, he would leave when they had to check out, but then he would fly home and hole up in his apartment for good.

"Kuuuurt," Blaine teased. "Come on, it's not that bad."

"There are posts on the internet with my _ass_ plastered all over them, Blaine," said Kurt through the covers. "My dad might see that!"

"You're dad has a Tumblr blog?"

He was teasing. Kurt knew this, but still leveled Blaine with a murderous glare through a gap in the duvet. "When did this even start?"

"Remember HMV in Oxford Street?" Blaine asked. "That's when I first noticed the interest. Well... Jeff did. And he showed me. Long story short, the fans who attended that signing gushed about you on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, and Instagram. They've been reporting sightings of quote: ‘The lovely American who follows The Warblers everywhere’, ever since."

"They think I'm lovely?"

Blaine abandoned the tablet and lay himself down beside Kurt, propped up on one elbow. "A lot of them do, yeah. You get the odd bitter idiot, but they’re just anonymous trolls. The guys think you’re lovely too.”

“And you?” Kurt asked shyly.

“If you can’t tell that I think you’re amazing, you must be blind as a bat,” Blaine said, smiling warmly.

Kurt blushed. “I think you are too.”

“Thank you,” Blaine mumbled, fingers grazing over Kurt’s cheek. He then seemed to realize what he was doing, and cleared his throat, brushing a dark and curly strand of hair from his pillow. “Most of our fans are intelligent enough to know you don't have to help them out. They appreciate it. _We_ appreciate it."

The intensity of his wide and earnest stare forced Kurt to duck his head. This was becoming a problem. He needed to get a grip.

Unaware of Kurt's inner scolding, Blaine's smile dimmed. He covered his eyes with his forearm, a long sigh puffing from his mouth.

Kurt poked his stomach. "What's gotcha' blue, Blainey-boo?"

"I hate how we have to treat our fans sometimes."

"What do you mean? You guys are so good with them."

"I mean, what the record company organizes to rip them off," clarified Blaine. "That signing thing with the no photographs is just the tip of the iceberg. They insist on so much to get money out of the dedicated fans. Our concerts, for example? We have three different VIP sections every time we go on tour. The gold circle is the up close one and they've paid over £500 or $700 depending on where we are to get in there. The silver circle is back again with the bronze even further. And then there's general admission who can't get a look in because we're charging too much to see us up-close."

"It's not you guys who make that decision," Kurt soothed.

"No, but we don't say anything. We can't. We’re not just at the mercy of our record label, a lot of royalties still go to Simon Cowell, since we gained exposure on one of his talent shows. We have no say for another six months or so. Sometimes I miss the days when we didn't play stadiums. The crowds were smaller and intimate. No one was left out and we could go out and meet them all without their paying hundreds for a hug, a picture and a signed tour program."

Kurt rubbed his fingers up and down Blaine's forearm. "Your fans adore hugs, pictures and signed tour programs."

"You can't put a price on hugs and pictures," said Blaine stubbornly.

"Well," Kurt began, noticing a shudder charge from Blaine's shoulders down to his toes when Kurt's thumb dropped to his wrist and traced the map of veins decorating the underside. "I guess we're just going to have to continue countering it where we can then."

"We?" Blaine queried.

"Yeah. You, Nick, David, Jeff, Trent... me?" Kurt ducked his head away from Blaine's blinding smile; wide, toothy and beautiful.

"Yeah, we will," he agreed.

"Kitty's probably going to insist we don't spend so much time together in public," Kurt realized.

"Not happening."

"Blaine…"

"Not happening," he said again, and rolled off the side of the bed. "Do you want some tea? Coffee? Food, you need food. You had a bad night last night. I should have ordered room service. That was stupid."

"Blaine-"

"We're not together!" Blaine snapped.

Kurt cocked an eyebrow at him. "Thank you so much for stating the obvious," he deadpanned. "What's your point?"

Blaine deflated instantly and rubbed his fist over one eye. "No, I- sorry." He groaned. "That came out wrong. I just mean, we're not dating, so- so it doesn't matter if we're seen together. It's not like we're allowed to be anything more than this anyway, right?"

Kurt bit his lip and studied his hands. "Blaine, I thought we were past that. Wes means well-"

"Doesn't make him right-"

"-And you've said so yourself that fans perceive things however they want to. If they choose to believe we're together, they will. We can limit the gossip if we don't - if we're careful about where we hang out. You know Kitty's going to suggest it and she'd be right. Think about it; what if the record company suspects something is happening? I'll be out on my ass and we'd never see each other anyway, because you'd be here and I'd be in New York."

Blaine swallowed thickly and the sight of his arms wrapping around his stomach, like he was physically shielding himself from the truth, ached in places Kurt didn't know he could. "I just don't want to lose you," Blaine said, and cast his eyes to the floor.

"You guys would find another assistant," Kurt reminded him.

Blaine shook his head sadly, settling on the bed beside Kurt. He leaned in so his cheek rested against Kurt's and grazed his right ear with his lips. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

Goosebumps crawled the length of Kurt's neck. He shuddered out a breath. Yes, he knew what Blaine meant. Had he doubted Blaine’s feelings for him before, he didn’t after last night.

"I can't afford to know it," he admitted. "In case I do something stupid."

Blaine hummed his understanding. "You ever notice how the things that are supposed to be stupid, actually tend to feel the most right?" he whispered.

Kurt chewed at his bottom lip, struggling against a sudden flare of want that urged him to do something irresponsible like kiss him, or bite down on the juncture of his neck. Things he knew would send them over the edge and lose him his job.

He couldn't do it. And as Blaine moved to order room service, he blinked away sudden tears from an unwelcome realization.

When did he fall in love with Blaine?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the slow burn is frustrating you, I assure you it's not doing a lot for me either. I sometimes can't resist writing: 'And they kissed and fucked in a meadow. The end.' Relieves the tension when I want to strangle the pair of them for being so thick headed.


	20. A Grand Day Out

**_ OK Magazine _ **

**_ Hollyoaks Jeremiah Flynn attacked!_**

_Cor, look at the shiner on Jeremiah Flynn! The former Hollyoaks star has been on the receiving end of a good punch or two!_

_Flynn, currently treading the boards in the West End production of Monty Python's Spamalot, was caught outside the Playhouse Theatre yesterday sporting a black eye, split lip and tell-tale limp, suggesting he was either attacked or caught up in a dispute earlier this week._

_Representatives for the 27-year-old actor have declined to comment, but a few choice words from long-time pal and model, Sebastian Smythe, suggests it may have been deserved._

_"He's an idiot when he's drunk," Smythe told a reporter._

_Whatever the truth, I'm willing to bet Spamalot's make-up department are none too pleased with their colleague. It'll take great skill to cover that mess._

* * *

There has never been a day in his life as The Warblers’ assistant that Kurt hasn't suffered through a moment of blind panic. They vary in degrees of severity – the night they lost Blaine in New York City was one of the worst; Kurt rushing Jeff to hospital after he slipped on a Freddo wrapper and twisted his ankle, was mild in comparison – but when Wesley Montgomery called him into a one on one meeting, 'panicked' didn't do it justice.

Immediately he began listing reasons he was an asset to the team.

It had been a week since the photos of Blaine and Kurt surfaced online. Why had Wes taken this long to come after him? Did he take the time to mull his options over, before the inevitable termination of Kurt's employment? Could he be convinced Kurt wasn't about to break his contract and engage in a tumultuous and passionate affair with the lead singer of The Warblers?

No matter how much he might want to.

Stop it! He doesn't think of Blaine that way.

"I don't," Kurt muttered to himself in the days following his epiphany, testing the words on his tongue until they convinced even the biggest sceptics.

In fact, he was so prepared for a fight, that he was caught entirely off guard when, sat behind his desk, Wes gestured for Kurt to sit and opened with;

"Have you given any thought to Mercedes' proposition?"

"I... proposition?" Kurt raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"She did tell you the idea about working on a part-time basis with her and Jan, right?" Wes took his spectacles off his nose and polished them with a Kleenex, replacing them once satisfied.

"Oh! Yes, she did." Shit. He'd been so wrapped up in his paranoia and helping Blaine put his house on the market, that he'd barely given it a thought. "I told her I'd think about it."

"And have you?"

"It- it's a... generous offer, but I just-"

"You're worried work experience will impede your ability to care for the boys?" Wes guessed.

Kurt drummed his fingers on the table, shifting his weight from side to side, awkwardly. "They're a handful as they are," he admitted.

"I know, I manage them, remember? Kurt, believe every word I say here, because I am not being generous. You are the best assistant I've ever hired to look after them," Wes said.

Kurt's mouth fell open in surprise. 

Wes' eyes sparkled with amusement. He picked up a sheet of paper from the desk.

"You had a slightly sticky start, but the hours you've put in paid off. From Quinn's notes, I know the boys have been punctual 97 percent of the time since you arrived, which is astonishing because their average was 56 percent before. They don't complain about you. Any issues are handled professionally and with discretion. You're resourceful." He dropped the paper onto the desk again. "I wouldn't endorse you spending an hour a day with Mercedes if I didn't think you were doing your job. As it happens, I have every faith you're capable of doing your full time job and training in other areas."

"An hour?"

"That's what I was thinking for now. Obviously this isn’t your average nine to five job, so there will be times Jan will need your help for longer, or you can’t get away from the boys. But an hour is enough to start with," Wes explained. "And if you like the work, eventually we can hire a replacement assistant and put you in Wardrobe full time."

"I- I don't know what to say," Kurt admitted. Five minutes ago he was convinced he was being fired, and now the beginnings of a promotion were in his grasp?

"Say yes," Wes said, and leaned back in his chair. "I'll never hear the end of it if you don't. Mercedes is adamant and, well, I can think of one or two people who would miss you if you left for a job elsewhere."

"I- okay. Yes."

"Excellent." Wes clapped his hands and stooped to pull a stack of papers from his desk draw. "I've had HR go over and draft an edited contract for you, one that accommodates this and other work experience opportunities you want to pursue. Read it over and have it signed and handed back to HR within the week. Quinn and Noah are still in New York visiting their daughter so she can’t take it off your hands. She'll meet us out in LA. Any questions?"

Kurt cocked his head. "I- I'm not sure I need to know where Quinn and Puck are..."

"She told me you know," Wes said easily. "Although while we're on the subject, she wants their history kept quiet. Puckerman doesn't care either way, but Quinn's worried her professionalism will be called into question if people know she fell pregnant at sixteen."

"Why would anyone do that?" Kurt asked, genuinely perplexed. "She's good at her job. And they hardly interact at work."

"Not to mention we would never discriminate against her." Wes sighed. "One day she'll figure that out. For what it's worth, I'm glad you and her get along these days. She's lonely. She needs friends who aren’t Noah. She's too guarded about their... friendship." He shook his head, cleared his throat. "Are there any other questions?"

Kurt pursed his lips, the question of why Wes continued to gloss over the photo issue, ready to be asked. Kitty hadn’t even said anything and she was in charge of damage control. Perhaps Kurt was wrong? Maybe the photos really weren't all that incriminating, after all. 

"No. No questions."

“In that case, shall we head on down for this meeting? Ms. Delgada’s assistant called to say they were ten minutes away. That was twenty minutes ago.”

Kurt nodded.

“Are you sure about signing the settlement, Kurt?” Wes asked, stopping Kurt before he opened the door. “Once we get into that meeting room, I can’t say a word. I’m there as a witness on your behalf only, so if you want to refuse their offer, you have to say the word now. We can still take this matter to the police.”

“I’m sure,” Kurt said firmly. “I want this over with, and something tells me the justice system won’t be as quick and painless.”

“I don’t think so either. Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

"Blaine, this is stupid. Why can't I know where we're going? If someone recognizes you, I can't help if I don’t know where I am," Kurt whined.

Rolling his eyes good naturedly, Blaine held his Oyster card up to the barrier, walking through into the ticket hall from the London Underground.

Blaine was taking it upon himself to cheer Kurt up after signing the settlement.

Kurt had mostly tuned out the talking that commenced in the final meeting, having heard the majority during the negotiation process. Skim reading the final draft had taken little time, and he understood the terms, and that the payment from Harmony’s record company would take up to six weeks to wire into his possession. With his signature on the line, it was official: He could no longer publicly comment about Harmony’s behavior.

When the meeting finally adjourned, Kurt smiled despite himself to find Blaine outside the conference room. The singer winked at Wes, flipped off an affronted Harmony, and led his bewildered assistant out of the building, down the street and through the underground.

To where, Kurt had no idea, but the idea of spending his day with Blaine put him at odds with himself. Part of him wanted to avoid Blaine like repellent ends of two magnets. The other craved his company and attention.

"You're at Waterloo Station, Kurt."

Kurt scowled at the back of his head. Blaine’s curls were dressed in a loose grey beanie today, despite the August warmth, to help disguise his identity, along with the hipster frames perched on his nose.

"I know that!" Kurt snapped, boarding the escalator up to the National Rail concourse of Waterloo Station. "I read the signs when we got here. I want to know where we're _going_."

"Hush," Blaine said. "It's called a surprise for a reason."

"I hate surprises."

"You'll love this one."

"I'm not reassured."

Blaine ignored him and scanned the board listing the latest train times and destinations. Kurt looked too, but gave up when he couldn't work out which entry was interesting Blaine. Instead he took in his surroundings; the hustle and bustle of travelers, the parade of shops and restaurants above them on the second floor, the busker in the corner performing a medley of Keane songs, pigeons roosting above their heads peck, peck, pecking at stray crusts on the floor... a teenage girl looking past Kurt, head to the side.

Kurt shimmied closer to Blaine blocking her view of him. With any luck the hipster attire would successfully confuse her skills of recognition.

"This way," Blaine said, touching Kurt's elbow to get his attention. "And no looking at the board when we get to the platform."

"Why?"

"Because it's a surprise."

With a growl of disapproval Kurt flounced after Blaine, who queued briefly for the ticket machines and purchased two, one for himself and the other for Kurt. Before Kurt could snatch his own orange ticket from Blaine and sneak a look at the destination printed in the corner, Blaine held it aloft with a tsk at his impatience and made off towards platform 19.

Flabbergasted, Kurt jogged to keep up and said, "I'm gonna' need it to get through the barrier."

Blaine just smirked and continued his approach. The barriers were less cramped on this side of the station. They came to a wide metal gate, where a man in a luminous green bib smiled widely at Blaine, accepted an envelope passed to him, and tucked it in his back pocket. With a cursory look at both tickets in Blaine's hand, he opened the gate and gestured for them to pass.

"What was that you gave him?"

"A signed photo for his daughter," Blaine explained once they were out of earshot. "I met him once before and promised I'd bring one next time."

Kurt's heart fluttered like a butterfly in anticipation of its first flight. The rail employee was just one guy in a train station, easily forgotten, but Blaine remembered him anyway.

Blaine nudged him in the side to get his attention again. "I meant what I said. Don't look at the board."

"Urgh."

Settled into a First Class compartment, Kurt listened to music for the hour long trip, so he wouldn't hear the announcer listing the destinations. When they were nearing their station, Blaine slipped a sleep mask into Kurt's hand and gestured for him to put it on. Kurt complied with a long-suffering sniff. He hoped no one was paying attention to how ridiculous they were being, when Blaine walked him off the train and down the platform.

Once Kurt could hear the hustle and bustle of a street, Blaine steered him by the forearm, righting Kurt when he stumbled, giggling in his ear every time he made a sarcastic comment.

Kurt didn't want to admit he was enjoying this. 

"Okay," Blaine said, and placed his hands on Kurt's shoulders. He turned him to face a specific direction. "You can remove your blindfold."

Kurt did so and squinted in the sudden bright light. The sky was cloudless today; the English summer having found its footing with the arrival of August. Grey cobbles made up the bridge beneath their shoes, like a black and white photograph from the early 1900s. Kurt scanned his surroundings to work out where he was, smiled down at the now familiar River Thames, twinkly and gentle in the sunlight, and turned his gaze from the flow beneath the bridge to what lay ahead of them.

He gasped. "Is this...?"

Blaine grasped his shoulders. "Welcome to Windsor."

[ ](http://imgur.com/c0H8Kyt)

Windsor. The home of Windsor Castle, the oldest and largest castle in the world still occupied by a monarch. Or so Kurt had read. The Queen lived there! She might be there now. Kurt squinted up at The Round Tower, remembering what Blaine had said at Buckingham Palace about the Royal Standard flag's significance. Where it would usually be though, the Union Flag flapped in the gentle breeze. Kurt got over the disappointment quickly, dizzy in his excitement.

"You brought me to Windsor Castle," Kurt said. "Oh my god, I don’t- you remembered?"

"Of course I did." Blaine eyed Kurt from the side like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Grabbing Kurt by the hand, he led him across the bridge into central Windsor, where he stopped them at the entrance to a road looping up and around the castle. _Castle Hill_ , Kurt read on a nearby sign.

The town was buzzing around them. Buses and cars chugged up and down the hill while the tourists around them bustled past one another, some staring up at the walls of the castle to snap photos, others far more interested in the parade of restaurants, pubs and tacky souvenir shops across the street.

"We have a couple of options," Blaine said. "We can go and eat lunch now. I know this amazing Thai place that's discreet just up the hill. Or, we can eat later and take the castle tour now."

Kurt grabbed at Blaine's bicep, eyes wide. "We can go inside the castle?" he squeaked.

Laughing, Blaine started their assent up the hill, palm pressed to the small of Kurt's back. "Castle tour it is."

* * *

"Oh my god," Kurt moaned and flopped down on an open stretch of grass.

The tour of the castle interior and grounds had been amazing, everything he'd ever dreamed of. Kurt had fantasized about living there once or twice in his youth. As a way of coping with her sudden death when he was eight, he’d convinced himself his mother was a long lost grandchild of the British Monarchy, and that one day he would be part of it too.

Looking up at the castle now from where Kurt and Blaine had settled a short distance away on The Long Walk, his childhood aspirations had come back to him, pleasant and welcome, the hurt of longing for his mother having faded long ago. The tree-lined avenue Blaine led Kurt to after the tour, stretched up to the castle from Windsor Great Park and was so beautiful that they weren't the only people who chose to settle there in the late afternoon. Picnic laden families and groups of teenagers were spread across the lawn, absorbing the last of the day’s sunshine.

[ ](http://imgur.com/GS0Sc8g)

"I take it you're enjoying yourself?" Blaine asked smugly.

"Yes," Kurt admitted, rolling over on the blanket Blaine had pulled from his bag and spread on the ground, to face him.

"So will you trust me next time I have a surprise for you?"

"Nope."

"Hey!"

"One good surprise does not heal the trauma of all the bad ones I've had in my life, Anderson," Kurt huffed.

"It helps though?"

"...Yes, it helps."

They're silent for a few minutes, Kurt content to gaze at the castle, head propped on his own forearm. His eyes closed for a while and when he opened them, he smiled serenely at Blaine.

"By the way I was doing some research into the property market," Kurt began, thumb stroking at Blaine's elbow to get his attention.

"Mhmm." Blaine pressed his other arm to his eyes. Shirt riding up, a slither of Blaine’s flat, soft belly was exposed. Kurt fought the urge to move his hand a few centimeters to graze the curly hair below his belly button.

"How attached are you to North London?" Kurt asked.

"Not overly, why?"

"Because I found this really sweet house up for sale in an area on the outskirts. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, decent back yard, recently remodeled kitchen. It's not as far out as here, but it might be nice. I looked into it. You might have more privacy there."

"Where are we talking?" Blaine asked, and slipped his sunglasses on so he could look at Kurt in the late afternoon sun.

"Richmond upon Thames."

"Richmond," Blaine repeated. "I think I might have gone past it once or twice on a train. Is that the kind of place you'd like to live?" Blaine asked.

"Why does that matter? It's not me buying," Kurt scoffed.

Blaine blinked at him expectantly over the top of his shades.

"Okay, I guess I would, yeah? I feel like you need somewhere the media are less likely to bother you, and its close enough to the center so you're not, like, isolated either," Kurt reasoned. "You could really set up a home there. So, if the Warblers don't work out, you'll still have a place to call yours."

“I’m not the only one who needs a place to call their own, you know,” Blaine said slyly.

“I have a place,” Kurt reminded him. “In New York.”

“Yes, but you don’t live there,” Blaine contradicted. “Not really. Look, I don’t know if you’re sticking around after your twelve month contract is up, but if you are, you can’t insist I stop living in hotels and continue doing so yourself.”

Kurt cocked his head. He hadn’t considered that. In four months he was going to need to decide: Extend his visa and continue working with The Warblers, or go home. If they’d still want him.

“Blaine, I can’t buy a place here. What about my dad?”

“You don’t have to buy. Just rent a flat.”

“A what?”

“An apartment. You’re coming into some money in six weeks. You could take out a short-term contract with a landlord, or even move into a house share.”

They’re quiet for a while, the murmur of chatter around them the only sound, while Kurt mulled Blaine’s words over. The money from the Harmony settlement would enable him to live fairly comfortably in his own space. No roommates. But he still paid his share of the loft in New York. He’d be throwing the hush money down the drain.

Then again, with so much of his work based in the UK, maybe it was the other way around. Was it the loft that was an unnecessary expense?

"Okay, I’ll make you a deal, mister,” Kurt began. “Let me book you a few house viewings for after we get back from America, and I’ll look into renting an apartment here. Deal?"

“Deal.” Blaine held the tips of Kurt’s fingers in his own hand and gently sealed the agreement.

"You’re seriously going to let me choose houses for you?”

"I trust you," Blaine said with a shrug, his smile lopsided and fond.

"That's a lot of power you're giving me, Bee." 

"Exactly, now all you have to do is trust in my surprises from now on and we’ll be even," Blaine rebutted cheekily. "Give and take."

"That’s not fair!" Kurt shoved at his shoulder lightly and yelped when Blaine dragged him down, pinned him to the blanket and tickled up his sides.

"That's plenty fair," Blaine said.

"Blaine…” Kurt gasped. “We’re in public. People could get the- the wrong idea- oh for the love of- stop, stop, stop! You’ve made your point!”" Kurt’s futile attempts to wriggle away from Blaine’s fingers were thwarted when Blaine grabbed Kurt's hands to pin them above his head.

He grinned down at Kurt. "If I stop tickling will you trust in me and my awesome ideas?"

"Please, do not start singing The Jungle Book," Kurt warned.

 _"Trust in meeeeeeeeeeeee_ ," Blaine crooned in his best imitation of the snake from the Disney animation. " _Jussssst in meeeeeeee!_ "

"Oh, god, why?"

" _Shut your eyeeeeeeees and trust in meeeeeeee_."

Kurt caught Blaine off guard, switched their positions and covered his mouth with his palm. "People are looking," he pointed out, dissolving into giggles.

"Go- -ou to -augh," Blaine said through Kurt's fingers.

"What am I going to do with you? I can’t believe the whole world doesn’t realize what a dork you are." Kurt flopped on his side, but held Blaine’s hands to the blanket in case another tickle attack was imminent. “You’ve had everyone fooled.”

“No one’s really interested in seeing this side of me,” Blaine said quietly. He tugged his hands free and picked at grass at the edge of the blanket.

“I am.”

Blaine’s hand paused, the blade of grass between his fingers forgotten. Removing his sunglasses, he dropped them to the blanket and let his honeyed gaze flicker up to Kurt’s.

Kurt's cheeks grew hot under the scrutiny. There was something about the way Blaine looked at him that left Kurt raw; not dissimilar to how he imagined being naked on a stage in front of hundreds of people would feel. It was unsettling and welcome in equal measure. And it never failed to start his blood running hot under his skin.

"What?" He tried to laugh, but it came out squeaky and unnatural.

Mouth opening and closing on its hinge, Blaine cocked his head to the side and let out on an exhale, "Go out with me."

"I... Blaine," Kurt spluttered.

"Right," Blaine shook his head and sat up to pinch his nose between his eyebrows. "I forgot. Wes."

"Wes," Kurt confirmed, sitting up with him. How he hated Wes.

"If Wes lifts the ban, will you go out with me?" Blaine asked again.

“Honey, he’s not going to-”

“But what if he did? Would you go out with me? And I mean a real date. I just-" Blaine blushed from the back of his neck to the roots of his hair, his shoes all of a sudden interesting to study in detail. He took a deep breath. "I like you. I- I can keep pretending like this isn't anything, but I make up ways to see you all the time, Kurt. I'm fed up of acting like I don't do stuff just to have an excuse to spend more time with you."

Breathing. Kurt should probably do that. A lack of air in his lungs was incredibly counterproductive to answering. Because, yes. He was scared of how _much_ he wanted him. This Blaine, the adorable, bad tempered, thoughtful dork; he would shout ‘yes’ to him in a hundred languages.

"Would you?" Blaine whispered.

"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notice the article about Jeremiah lists more injuries than Kurt inflicted on him... Make of that what you will.
> 
> As ever, thank you so much for all the lovely comments and kudos. You're all very generous. And I'm glad so many of you are enjoying the slow burn. Until next time.


	21. Temptation

  ** _Pop Sugar_**

**_ Exclusive footage: Blaine's summer rendezvous with rumored boyfriend _ **

_The lead singer of The Warblers has been mysteriously missing from the tabloids lately, and now we know why. Blaine Anderson has a boyfriend!_

_Okay, so it's not confirmed, but you review the evidence:_

_Anderson was spotted Tuesday afternoon in the quaint town of Windsor, England, where he and the band's PA, Kurt Hummel, took a tour of the Royal residence of Windsor Castle, before whiling the afternoon away on the romantic Long Walk._

_Fans who sat a few meters from them in the afternoon sun, captured footage of the playful pair laughing and whispering to one another before battling it out in the cutest tickle fight we have ever seen._

_The Twitter user who posted the original video said:_

_GinaWarbler4EvA: Blaine A is here in Windsor with Kurt! This is not a drill! They are so adorable! #warblerinlove_

_Just last week Blaine was caught outside The Ritz hotel in London with Hummel, sparking speculation over their relationship. Blaine escorted him into the hotel, where the two remained until the band checked out the following afternoon._

_What do we think? Has Blaine Anderson turned in his bachelor card for domestic bliss? Or is this a publicity stunt to mend the singer's sullied reputation? Watch the video below and decide for yourself, folks!_

* * *

“Kurt, don’t take this the wrong way. I’m glad you’re giving this a shot, but, what’s changed?” Mercedes asked. “Last week you were humoring me when you said you’d think this over, and now you can’t wait to get started.”

“I just- you’re right. I’m not going to be the guys' assistant for the rest of my life,” Kurt said, painfully aware of just how true this statement would be if he allowed his feelings for Blaine to trample his common sense. “I can’t have Broadway, but maybe I can have fashion. It’s my second love, and anyway I think you need an ally over here.”

“You’re damn right I do. If you’re sure…” She eyed Kurt nodding his eagerness. “Welcome aboard. I’ve already talked over the specifics with Wes. You're sticking with us for the video shoot, because we need all the help we can get, and the set has runners for errands. Just don’t slack off in the day job and get me in trouble, 'kay?”

“I won’t.” He smiled and squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Mercedes. I know I reacted badly but, I really appreciate what you’re doing for me.”

“Anytime, baby,” she said. “Are we doing lunch later?”

“Definitely. And I’m sending the boys to you later for fittings, right?”

“Four o clock,” she confirmed. “Come watch and learn. We're making them a little less uniform for this shoot like you suggested, so hopefully it gets the green light from that Abrams guy who's directing. Then maybe once we’re done you can tell me what's bothering you? And don't think you're getting away without filling me in on the Windsor trip the internet’s going nuts about.”

Kurt fluttered his fingers on the way out, his smile slipping when he turned the corner. Damn. He hoped she'd let the existence of that video go without comment.

Despite his attempts to appear normal and unaffected by the risky progression of his relationship with Blaine, he could feel people watching him, like his feelings were painted all over his face, vivid as a Van Gogh painting.

Perhaps they were. Perhaps he was paranoid. Perhaps his efforts to mask his true feelings made them plainer to the casual observer.

They were certainly obvious to himself, now he’d shed his last layer of denial.

No longer was he capable of telling himself the tinge of red to his cheeks, the thud of his heart in his throat, the pleasant but inappropriate swooping sensation below his navel, and the heightened sensitivity of his skin with Blaine in close proximity, was from the heat, coming down with a cold, or lack of sleep. He couldn’t pass off the fantasies dominating his alone time as guilty one-off’s, because they were happening every night, his right hand pumping to a too-much but not-enough climax, fueled by the memory of every tactile touch.

Blaine couldn’t seem to help himself, now he knew Kurt welcomed his attention. Thanking Kurt with a hand down Kurt’s back, hooking his chin over his shoulder to see the schedule, letting his fingers linger longer than necessary when Kurt passed something to him.

Kurt craved these moments, a thirst that wasn’t curable by a sip of water, and he had to keep busy to ignore it.

Blaine hadn't broached the subject of dating with Wes yet, choosing to leave it until he was in a better mood. Filming on Santa Monica Pier for the music video had been set back a day by an unexpected earthquake damaging a third of the equipment. Wes had arrived on the scene and lost his temper, forcing Kurt to agree wholeheartedly: Now was not the time to piss him off.

Especially after that video in Windsor.

Interviews had to be delayed, meetings pushed back, studio sessions rescheduled, time off cancelled, security details rearranged, potential publicity breaches foreseen ahead of time, mornings made earlier than originally planned.

And to cap it all, the weather was scorching. The British team members were unused to the heat that, according to the perky weather lady on Good Day LA, had swept in from Arizona overnight.

Kurt was jarred out of his worries by a text from Quinn telling him she had made it to the hotel, after flying in from New York.

"You’re definitely working with wardrobe then?" she said, when she let him into her room.

"I am. It's hard to argue when everyone is telling you to go for it," he replied, eyes on the altered schedule programmed into his tablet, ready to be relayed to her.

Quinn arched a perfect eyebrow, her green eyes narrowed in contemplation. "Is it what _you_ want though?"

"Huh?"

"Everyone has told you to go for it, but do you actually want to?" Quinn pulled him down onto a chair set up in the corner of her room. "Because I can tell you from experience; doing what everyone else thinks you should, isn't necessarily what's best."

"No one bullied you into this job," Kurt chided.

"No, but they did try to bully me into being the sixteen-year-old high school drop-out, who marries the baby daddy." Quinn smiled wryly. "I have nothing against teen moms who take that path, it's just... not me. There's too much I want to do, and Puck and I are in this too deep with Beth and her foster mom to back out now.”

“How is she?”

“Happy she’s not itchy anymore.” Quinn laughed. “She’s got a few little scars now from all the scratching she sneaked in when Shelby wasn’t looking. But I think she missed us. She didn’t even let me out of the cab before she threw herself at me.”

Kurt laughed. “I’d love to meet her one day.”

“We’re back in New York for two weeks in a few days, so maybe I’ll bring her to the recording studio,” Quinn replied with a soft, faraway smile. “What were we talking about?”

“Me doing work experience.”

“Right. I guess what I’m trying to say is, if there's something else you'd rather be doing, go for it.” Quinn took Kurt’s tablet from him and quickly emailed herself the new schedule. “It's not too late."

Yes it is, Kurt thought dully. He'd wanted Broadway, but Broadway hadn’t wanted him. Kurt tilted his head to the side with a fond smile and said instead, "Where was _this_ Quinn back when I was interviewing?"

"She was buried in a mountain of work and didn't think you’d last the week," Quinn admitted archly. "She also didn't know how nice you are."

Kurt laughed, taking the tablet back from her. "Quinn, I... I'm sort of floundering on what I want to do. I know I want to be in the entertainment industry, I just don't know where any more. It can't hurt to try out other positions to see what fits, right?"

"Sounds like a smart idea actually," Quinn said, eyes lingering on the palm trees outside her window. "Maybe _I_ should…"

"A very wise woman just told me that it's never too late to try."

* * *

"Has he said anything to you about that video yet?" David asked.

The shoot for the music video was finally in motion and, with a bit of luck, they were only six hours away from wrap being called. Jan, Mercedes, Sugar, and Kurt had been running around adjusting the boy's outfits, touching up make-up and thrusting them in and out of their trailers in the hazy heat for two days.

Mercedes looked up with interest at David's words. Kurt ignored her, eyes on David's collar, debating whether to whip it off him to run a quick iron over it.

"Who, Wes?" Kurt asked. "No. I've been expecting something since the paparazzi photos came out the other week, but so far it's like they don't even care..."

"They care," David said softly. "Wes has been taking meetings with Kitty. And I overheard him telling Quinn that the suits upstairs are concerned with the lack of strategy from PR. You know, over 'the Blaine issue'." He made bunny ears with his fingers and rolled his eyes. "Something's being figured out. We just don't know which way they're going to spin the media interest in you."

Damn. "I thought the silence was too good to be true."

David patted Kurt on the back awkwardly. “If it makes you feel better, you’re probably the least of Wes’ worries right now. He’s under pressure to find another female vocalist for this track, after Harmony didn’t work out.”

The director was calling the band back to the set.

Tongue peeking in concentration, Kurt finally made the collar align properly against David's neck. "Done."

"Thanks. Try and stay out of the way of paparazzi while we're here," he said, walking backwards towards the open space the other four were rehearsing in for the next take. "We're at Hollywood's doorstep. They're gonna' be keeping an eye out."

Kurt dropped his head into his hands, exhausted from a powerful combination of jetlag and stress. He needed a vacation.

"You okay, boo?"

"I wanna’ have a girly night." He lowered his voice to a whisper when the 1st AD called for quiet on set. "Just us and maybe Quinn?"

"Yeah, sure..." Mercedes eyed him critically. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

He would be. Just as soon as he knew how much trouble he was in.

* * *

A girl’s night turned out to be exactly what he needed. Once he’d convinced Sugar to quit pestering him about Blaine.

Well, convinced probably wasn’t the word for it. He simply distracted her with the news that Mercedes had been secretly dating a mystery guy for the last month, and like a cat with a new ball, she’d batted at that subject and wheedled until Mercedes was ready to throttle her. Mercedes then steered the conversation to Quinn’s sort-of-but-not-really high school romance with Mohawk Muscle Man, as Sugar called Puck, and Kurt quickly took pity on Quinn and changed _that_ subject.

Kurt stumbled back to his room after midnight, to find Blaine sat outside his door.

“Blainey!”

"Hey, where've you been?" Blaine asked, hopping to his feet. "You look... buzzed?"

That's one word for it.

"Quinn, Mercedes, Sugar and I had a movie night... cocktails were involved. At least, they were meant to be cocktails. I don't know what Sugar put in the Sex on the Beach, but I don't think it was meant to be that sour."

Kurt rested heavily against the wall, eyes raking over Blaine shamelessly. He was dressed in grey sweatpants and a tight black polo shirt, the gel from the video shoot washed away until his curls flopped messily against his forehead.

"Hi," he said.

Blaine chuckled and held his hand out to Kurt. Tongue peeking in concentration, Kurt slapped a five and held his own up for another. 

"No!" Blaine laughed and pried Kurt's keycard from his left hand, "I was going to open the door for you."

"Oh. Sorry. Here you go." Kurt frowned at his empty hand and looked around the floor. "Wait, I don't have it. Where'd it…?” Blaine held it up. “…Oh! I must have dropped it."

The door was open now and Kurt's heavy head fell back against Blaine's shoulder. He allowed himself to be steered by steady hands at his hips, to sit on something soft. It was a mattress. And Blaine was beside him. Kurt rubbed his forehead against his polo shirt. He smelled like cinnamon and aftershave.

"I'm just going to get you some water," Blaine said, throat clearing.

Kurt didn't want Blaine to move away, but laying down on a soft mattress was tempting. Flopping onto his back, he closed his eyes and curled into a ball. It made the ceiling spin like a top, so he placed one foot on the floor to steady his equilibrium.

Blaine was back at his side. "Sit up, beautiful," he said.

Accepting the water bottle held out to him, Kurt mumbled a "thank you" and sipped. The cool water was a welcome balm to his throat.

Kurt leaned his forehead against Blaine's shoulder again, not even caring the hairspray he'd methodically applied earlier had lost its grip. The smell of aftershave was even stronger with his nose pressed to Blaine's neck. He breathed it in deep and nudged the tip of his nose at the juncture between Blaine's shoulder and neck.

A shudder powered through Blaine, grip tight against Kurt's waist. "What are you doing?"

"You smell good," Kurt mumbled and pressed little kisses into Blaine's skin.

Whining, Blaine cupped Kurt's cheeks and held him out of reach. "You're drunk."

"I'm not drunk." Blaine cocked his head at that so Kurt sighed dramatically. "Okay, I'm a little drunk! But I know what I want so, shhhh."

"I know you do, but I still have to ask Wes. Remember?"

That did sound familiar. Thinking started to hurt though, so Kurt sipped more water.

"That's why I'm here, actually. The shoot's over so I'm going to ask him," Blaine said. "Is that okay?"

"Ask him...?

"Wow, you really _are_ drunk. Maybe we should have this conversation when you've slept it off," Blaine said.

"No, no! Now."

"I'm asking him if I can take you out on a date," Blaine said slowly.

Kurt's eyes widened. "You're doing that _now_?"

"Well, not right this second, but probably tomorrow. Is that okay?"

"I feel sick."

"Shit, do you need a bucket?"

"No, no, not _drunk_ sick. _Scared_ sick." Kurt clung to Blaine’s shoulders clumsily. "He's going to fire me. He'll chuck you from the band. We're going to be like King Edward abdicading- I mean abdicat...? Abdi- saying bye bye to the throne to marry Marge Simpson-”

“Wallis Simpson,” Blaine corrected, cheeks pinched like he’s trying not to smile.

“We'll have to move to France for the rest of our lives. Can you speak French?"

"Kurt, I think you're blowing this a little out of proportion," Blaine replied.

"I don't want to move to France!" Kurt whined. His head shot up when Blaine threw his head back and laughed. "Hey!"

"I'm sorry," Blaine said, pressing his smile to Kurt's forehead. It tingled to the tips of his fingers and toes and made it a little harder to be mad at him. "You're just really adorable."

"Your accent is adorable... it's all..." Kurt yawned. "English."

"I specifically recall you telling me your first week with us, that British accents weren't a thing for you?" Blaine teased.

"I lied."

"Well that was rubbish of you. What other lies have you been feeding me?"

"That's a weird word, 'rubbish'." Kurt giggled into his hand as he tried to sound it out. "Rubbish, rubbish, _ru-bish_ , rub-bish- no wait it's gone weird." Kurt screwed up his nose, lips pursed in concentration. "You ever get that? When you say a word too much and it feels weird? RUB-ISH. No, it's all wrong."

Blaine smiled indulgently. "Yeah, I get that sometimes. ‘Bed' is a funny word too. Speaking of bed, you should get some shut eye."

"You're not gonna' stay?" Kurt pouted at Blaine, who pressed his lips to Kurt's forehead again, fingers tickling the hairs at the back of his neck.

"Not tonight. We'll talk again in the morning, when you've cleared your head. That sound good?"

No, that sounded bad. Blaine would be gone. And Kurt wanted to kiss him. He was right there. He could just do it. But sleep sounded good too. And he wasn’t allowed to kiss Blaine. So sleep would have to do.

“Mmmm... kay.”

* * *

Waking up didn't feel good. Kurt's head felt like a stampede of miniature horses had trampled it in the night. Tequila. Why did he say yes to the tequila?

He groaned and burrowed his head into his pillow, blocking out the sunlight that trickled in from behind the curtains. Blaine must have drawn them for him last night. Blearily he glanced over the room. Blaine wasn't there, but a bucket from the bathroom had been placed beside the bed, a full bottle of water sat beside him on the nightstand with a packet of Tylenol too. A note was propped against his lamp.

_Hey mister, the guys and I have interviews all morning, but we decided to let you sleep it off. Yes, Wes is okay with it (apparently Quinn's in a bad state too? What the hell were you guys doing?). I hope the headache isn't too bad. I'll see you later._

_\- Blaine_

_P.S. You are the most adorable drunk I have ever seen._

"Ass," Kurt grumbled, flopping back down. He was too groggy to even berate himself for oversleeping. Water. Tylenol. He made himself sit up again and took two tablets, washing it down with half the bottle of water. Dozing for an indeterminable amount of time, he was shocked back to consciousness by the violent buzz of his phone against the nightstand.

**Wes (11:14): Kurt, did you read all of your new contract when you signed it this time around?**

Kurt sat up and cocked his head at the message. Of course he had. Not… thoroughly. It was the same contract with a few additions. He _had_ skimmed it again to refresh his memory though.

**Kurt (11:16): Yes. I agreed to the conditions. Why?**

**Wes (11:17): Go back to clause 19.**

Fishing the contract out of the draw by his bed, Kurt laid it out on his pillow and skipped the first 14 pages to the section specified. He'd barely glanced it over the second time, not wanting to see the words that bound him to a promise he was finding it harder and harder to keep. Just last night Blaine had stopped Kurt kissing his neck! He groaned with embarrassment from the memory. He’d always gotten a bit tactile when he was drunk, in complete contrast to his guarded existence as a sober man.

The technical jargon was difficult to focus on in his state; hung-over and tired, but Kurt forced himself to read pages 14 and 15 thoroughly, only to pause on page 16. The title for the next section stared back at him.

He frowned. That was odd, he could have sworn there was more relating to the professional nature of his relationship with-

Grabbing up his bag, he pulled a folder full of important documents from inside and searched until the original contract he'd signed back in February was in his grasp. Skipping straight to page 16, he found the section that was supposed to be in the revised contract.

Kurt looked from the first contract to the second, the second to the first and back again, over and over. It was definitely missing from the new contract, but that couldn't be right. Why would they leave it out? Had it been moved to another page?

Unless...

His phone buzzed again. Kurt snatched up the phone and opened Wes' message.

**Wes (11:26): Don't make me regret it.**

“You have _got_ to be kidding me!”

The phone dropped to the mattress. His heart was hammering as he settled back against his pillows, hand over mouth.

Wes had changed the conditions over a week ago. Blaine wasn't out of bounds.

“Fuck.”


	22. Breathe

It took three hours for the knock on his door to come. Too much time for Kurt to dance, curl up in a panicked ball, pace from one end of the room to the other, deal with his breath, hair and body odor, and ransack his temporary closet and suitcase for the perfect outfit for whatever conversation and… other stuff could happen.

He felt like a kid discovering the school rules had been thrown out. How are you supposed to pick one formerly forbidden thing to do, when they all become available at once?

There was every chance the pent up frustration simmering beneath the surface for the last six months would manifest itself beyond his control.

What if Blaine ran in the opposite direction?

 _He better not_ , Kurt thought. It was his own damn persistence and loveliness that had reduced Kurt to this state of overwhelmed heartache, the sexy, beautiful bastard.

Determined to at least pretend he didn’t feel nauseous with anticipation, Kurt made himself stay on the bed for five whole seconds, before leaping across the room and, with a deep breath, turning the door knob.

"Hey." Kurt hoped his smile hadn't turned out as uncomfortable as he felt.

"Hi." Blaine dipped his head shyly, his tumble of curls flopping to his forehead. His dark wash jeans fit snuggly around his waist and thighs, the red polo shirt unbuttoned at the top. Blaine cleared his throat. "So- so I spoke to Wes and, he seemed a little surprised I was asking about you?"

Kurt covered his top lip with his fingers. "Yeah… I think I know why."

"It's one of the weirdest conversations I've ever had with him, actually," Blaine continued, leaning against Kurt's door frame. "Which is saying something because he's been managing us for years now, and we've been friends even longer."

Beckoning Blaine inside, Kurt shut the door behind him and pressed his back to the varnished wood. "How did this weird conversation go?"

"Well, at first I thought I’d hidden my feeling from him better than I thought. But no, he’s actually well aware I like you. And then he asked why I was even _bothering_ to come to him for permission, which was just… He said he thought he'd made his position clear in the last week."

He cocked his head to the side, wide eyes surveying Kurt through his long lashes.

Kurt opened and closed his mouth, but no words materialized.

"Could you... maybe elaborate on this for me, Kurt? Because I'm really confused."

Breathe. Kurt pushed away from the door with his shoulders to settle by the two contracts strewn across his bed. "Wes gave me a new contract to sign, to cover work experience in the wardrobe department," Kurt began. "I- I didn't read it in full, because if I had I would have realized the section stopping us seeing each other... it's gone."

"It- what?”

“The clause is gone, Blaine.”

“But...” Blaine’s eyebrows knitted together. “I- Oh."

"Yeah." Kurt laughed, still disbelieving.

"So,” Blaine licked his lips, “if I were to ask you out again properly… I can?"

"Looks like it," Kurt said.

"What else can I do?"

Blaine pulled Kurt to his feet, other hand at his waist. He nudged Kurt's nose with his own.

"Kiss me, hold me..." Kurt's breathing caught in his throat, for the first time allowing the intoxicating scent and warmth of Blaine’s hands through his shirt, to overwhelm him. He closed his eyes to avoid the pull of Blaine's and shuddered. "Sleep with me."

Blaine swallowed thickly, cupping Kurt’s cheeks between his palms. "I can kiss you?"

Kurt bit his lip when Blaine's mouth skimmed the apple of his cheek.

"Here?"

Kurt's inhale was sharp, his nod of agreement jerky. Lips made a trail up the column of Kurt's throat and he clutched Blaine closer, fingers tight in the soft cotton of his shirt.

"What about here?"

Kurt nodded again, mouth forming an unconscious O.

"What about…” Kurt opened his eyes when the feathered touch of Blaine’s fingertips grazed his bottom lip. It made him ache. “Here?"

Blaine’s eyes darted between Kurt's in search of a sign. His breath was a ghost of touch over Kurt’s mouth, warm and tempting, and all it took was a glance into the honeyed glow of his wide, fearfully hopeful gaze, for Kurt's last defense to crumble.

The first kiss was chaste. Just a press of lips. Hesitant. Perfect.

Not enough. Kurt whined when Blaine withdrew a fraction, winding his arms around his neck to slot their mouths together more firmly. It felt like he was roasting over an open flame, months’ of tension kissed away by the most achingly tender lips he had ever felt against his own. Blaine's hand was tracing Kurt's spine, the other stroking delicately at his waist. Like he couldn't believe he was allowed and wanted to savor every caress.

Kurt's eyes squeezed shut. He broke away to lean their foreheads together. "I want you... _so_ much," he whispered.

Blaine clutched him closer in response. Pulling Kurt's bottom lip into his mouth, Blaine suckled experimentally and elicited a shy moan from Kurt, who was entirely overwhelmed with touch and heat and the strong thud of Blaine’s heart pressed against his chest. His own heartbeat loud in his ears. They tugged one another closer, Blaine lifting himself up on his toes in a silent plea for more. Kurt couldn't have denied him if he tried.

After a time and with great reluctance, they broke apart, gasping for air, lips skimming, just long enough for Kurt to, forehead against Blaine’s, whisper; “Is this okay?”

Blaine laughed incredulously, because _of course it was okay_.

And with that, Kurt surrendered to instinct. Chest to chest they backed up, Kurt licking deeply into Blaine's mouth until his back hit the wall. Then, tearing his lips from Kurt’s, Blaine moved to suck tiny kisses into his jaw, surprising him with a seductive flick of the tongue behind his ear. Kurt’s groan could surely be heard in the next room. His head fell back, in a desperate hope Blaine would take the hint. He did, burying his nose in Kurt’s neck, kiss after heart-fluttering kiss pressed to his bared throat. Blaine's teeth tugged playfully at Kurt’s earlobe and he whined, the buck of his hips and the heat zapping straight to his groin, involuntary but _so_ good.

Too much, too soon.

“Blaine, wait… slow,” he gasped.

Blaine’s nose fell to rest at the juncture of Kurt’s neck, breath heavy, heaving. “Hmmm?"

"We just got here," Kurt said, shaking his head to clear it. "Too quick."

"Right. Slow. You," Blaine mumbled incoherently. His breath was hot, puffing over Kurt's skin. “I promised myself I wouldn’t rush this. Don’t want to mess up.”

Kurt cupped the back of Blaine’s neck and met his dazed, dark eyes, held him there. “So far you’re not.”

“You’re so beautiful it’s really hard to think.” Blaine pressed a kiss to Kurt’s shoulder, and Kurt wanted to giggle at the cheese behind that statement. Except, it didn't sound insincere coming from Blaine.

“Come on we should talk,” Kurt said, and walked him to settle at the foot of the bed.

 _Oh_ , perhaps not the best idea, because now all he could think about was every guilty fantasy he’d ever had about Blaine.

"Fuck it."

Kurt swung a leg over Blaine’s lap and slammed their lips together. Blaine chuffed in surprise, scrabbling at Kurt's waist, kissed back with puppy-like enthusiasm. Several minutes were lost in one another, the cheeky nibbles and reverent caress of lips starved of one another too long.

Closer. Kurt wanted to be closer.

But Blaine tore himself away and mumbled, “Slow.” He was panting. His forehead fell to rest against Kurt's shoulder. "Slow."

It was a reminder to himself, but Kurt agreed regardless. "Slow.” He pulled Blaine in by the scruff of his neck; his lips were like nectar, sweet and addictive. 

"That's not slow," Blaine laughed between kisses, making no move to stop.

"I'm trying,” Kurt said breathlessly.

Kurt’s fingers were tugging his polo away from his collar. “I thought we were going to- to talk?” Blaine said.

“We are.”

“About us.”

“Still are.”

Blaine half laughed, half gasped when Kurt simultaneously latched onto Blaine’s collarbone and ground down on the erection trapped in his jeans.

"Kurt, you're making this really – ah! – hard," Blaine choked.

"That's kind of the idea."

Blaine giggled and nudged Kurt’s face up again. Leaning back on one hand, he gazed adoringly through hooded eyelids. Kurt shivered when the fingers of Blaine's free hand grazed his face; his nose, his eyebrows, the styled flick of his hair.

“You can stay on me if you like, but you were right. We do need to talk,” Blaine said.

With a frustrated growl, Kurt let Blaine scoot gingerly out from under him and back against the pillows. His arm raised invitingly and Kurt crawled over, resituating himself in Blaine’s lap, both legs the same side, knees curled to his chin. He wrapped a loose arm around Blaine's waist.

For a few minutes they were quiet. Relaxed. Happy to enjoy the novelty of holding one another, after so long guarding their every touch.

Blaine spoke first. “We need to talk about where this is going.”

Kurt kissed his collarbone, smirking at the little mark he’d left from before “Shall I start or you?”

“Can I? I don’t know where but- please?”

Kissing Blaine’s lips once, twice, three times for good measure, Kurt burrowed his head in the crook between Blaine’s neck and left shoulder. “Take your time.”

“… I’m crazy about you."

Kurt closed his eyes, his smile serene, heart thumping its approval. He knew Blaine wasn’t finished though.

“But?”

“But…” Blaine sighed above him, pressed a kiss to the top of Kurt’s head. “You know how complicated my life is.”

Kurt nodded.

“Relationships in my position are hard. You know how Jeremiah and I went wrong. I was away for so long… I guess I should have known he wouldn’t wait.”

“Blaine, that’s not fair," Kurt said. "He should have had more self-control. You didn’t cheat on _him_ , right?”

Blaine was silent a moment. “I came close to it once,” he admitted. “This guy – he was a fan – basically threw himself at me. I hadn’t seen Jeremiah in two months and… I was lonely. He kissed me and I let it happen. When I realized what I was doing I made him leave.”

“...Well,” Kurt floundered. “There’s a difference between nearly letting it happen and... acting on that impulse.”

Blaine was silent for a few moments. “If it had been you I was in a relationship with and I admitted to letting that happen, would you be so reasonable?” he asked.

“Of course I-” He stopped, because no that wasn’t true, was it?

He closed his eyes and imagined that he didn’t work for The Warblers. That Blaine was his absent boyfriend while he worked in New York. Imagined Blaine admitting to letting another man kiss him.

It hurt to even think about.

And he had been in this situation before. When he and Adam had been dating for just over a year, they'd spent an evening in a popular club in Manhattan. A few drinks in, Kurt had left for the restroom and returned to see a stranger with his lips attached to Adam’s neck, their hips grinding together on the dance floor. It took Adam too long to pull away, and while his ex-boyfriend insisted he was the innocent party in that situation, Kurt knew what he’d seen. And he’d never truly forgiven him for that momentary hesitation.

It was the catalyst for their growing apart. The reason he would have never considered getting back together with him. Not that he'd ever truly loved Adam. He knew that now.

“Are you trying to tell me I can’t trust you?” Kurt asked, and caught Blaine’s eye sternly.

“No, no!” Blaine scrabbled at Kurt’s waist with one hand and cupped his face with the other. “I learned my lesson. I would never, _ever_ , do that to you.” He kissed Kurt, all tongue and desperation for Kurt to believe him. And Kurt let him. He needed the reassurance. 

“I’m telling you because I don’t want secrets between us,” Blaine said when he broke away. “The thing is… I know how hard this is. Not just the potential absence, but also the pressure.”

“Blaine, I work with you guys. If you go on a tour, I’ll probably be there, as your assistant or in wardrobe or something,” Kurt pointed out. "It’s not the same.”

“You won’t always be,” Blaine said. “At some point you will branch away.”

Kurt scoffed.

“You will, okay? You’re too amazing to stay with us forever." Blaine cupped Kurt's cheek with his palm, smiling when Kurt leaned into it. "And… the band won’t always be together. We could lose all our fans tomorrow and it would be over. And then what? You’d forge an incredible path. You’d write a one man show and debut it on Broadway and win a Tony. You’d dress the next pop princess. Premiere your own line at New York Fashion Week. Something really glamorous and… not with me every moment.”

“I’d make time for you.”

“I would too. But then there’s the whole… fame thing.”

“What about the fame?”

Blaine scrubbed his hands up and down his face. “It’s a lot. Fans always want to know who we’re dating. The media gets off on it. People already suspect we’re a couple and when it’s confirmed… it won’t just be _me_ anymore. Eyes will be on you too; judging you, picking you apart. People will see you as my fucking accessory, okay? They’ll accuse you of using me, belittle your accomplishments and make out like you only succeeded because of your association with me. You get on Broadway? _‘Oh wow, clearly fucking Blaine Anderson has its perks’_. You’ll be accused of being in it for the fame.”

Kurt didn’t care about people’s opinions, but Blaine was too far gone, gesticulating with passion, the crease between his eyebrows tighter with every word spat from his lips.

“And then there’s the homophobia. You’ve told me what it was like for you growing up. Bring the whole world into that. Everyone will want to have their say on us-”

“Blaine, slow down-”

“-You know I get hate mail, hate tweets, nasty comments on tabloid articles, politicians condemning me because I like cock. That will be aimed at you too, Kurt. And it’s really. Fucking. Hard. To. Handle.”

Kurt cupped Blaine’s face to shush him, thumb stroking against his cheek.

“I won’t always be able to protect you,” Blaine gasped out. A tear slid from his eye and lazily down his cheek. “I need you to think this through.” He put his hand over Kurt’s, the one still against Blaine’s cheek. “You have no idea how happy I am you… feel something for me, but I-”

“Feel something?” Kurt shook his head, a small, incredulous smile curling his mouth. “Blaine, you have to know… I’m crazy about you too, you idiot. Really, stupidly, against my better judgment, crazy about you.” Kurt punctuated his words with kisses to Blaine’s face.

"Kurt, please do this for me. Think it over? Because... god, there's no way for me to say this without it sounding like I'm trying to manipulate you. I swear I'm not. I just..."

"Blaine, say it. I'm listening," Kurt whispered.

Blaine took a deep breath. "I- I don't think I could handle it if you turned and ran at the first sign of trouble. If this turns out to be too much for you in the public eye, when everyone is treating our relationship like entertainment... I need you to understand. The high points will be amazing, but the lows are going to be excruciating with the world's expectations on us.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt, but I’m too selfish to do the noble thing and let you go. So before we get in over our heads, please think about this? I’m going to woo you like you’ve never been wooed in the meantime, and if you decide the pressure will be too much… I’ll accept that. We can go back to being friends.”

“What if I do decide that?” Kurt began carefully. “Are you _really_ going to want to know me? If you said just being friends is too much, I...”

“Kurt, to be honest,” his thumbs began to massage Kurt's palm, “I’d rather have you in my life as a friend, than not at all.”

Kurt took a deep, cleansing breath and nodded. “Okay.”

“About this date I promised you.” Blaine peeked up at Kurt through his lashes. “Our flight to New York leaves tonight, and Wes says he’s locking us in the studio for two weeks to finish our album. I think we’re only going to be let out to network at a few events in the evenings, so I don’t know when we’re going to have a chance to-”

“I know. I see the schedule before you do.” Kurt’s fingers slid gently through Blaine’s dark curls. “We’ll figure something out. And it doesn’t have to be extravagant. We could have a meal together somewhere quiet. So long as it’s with you, everything else is just… details.”

Blaine nodded, eyes flickering between Kurt’s lips and his eyes. “Okay. Whatever you want.”

Kurt wanted to kiss him again. So he did, pulling Blaine’s bottom lip between his teeth. Blaine mewled into his mouth and slotted his fingers between Kurt’s. And as he was guided onto his back and enveloped by the warm body above him, Kurt knew this boy, his taste, his scent, and his fragile soul would soon be his home, if he followed the desperate plea of his heart.

They had to be sensible. He had to make sure he was ready for this. Why did he feel like whichever path he chose, someone was going to get hurt?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was scary to post, because I know it's (one of) the chapters you guys have been waiting for. Hope it was worth it.


	23. Doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I don't do it enough, I would like to say a big thank you to my beta and best friend Fiona, aka LadyFiona89 on Tumblr, for all the spelling checks, reassurance and ideas she's given me for this fic. We've been friends for 14 years. She knows me a little too well, and I'm not sure I would have even put this out there without her.

"Fuck, yes! Hummel's getting laid!"

"Santana!" Kurt scolded, but he couldn't hold back a giddy smile.

Fresh off their video shoot in Los Angeles, The Warblers, Puck, Wes, Quinn and Kurt had boarded their evening flight direct to New York, where they were to put the finishing touches on their album. Which meant Kurt could return to the loft in Bushwick.

His hopes of sleeping until dinner slipped from his grasp the moment he stumbled through the front door with his suitcase. Rachel and Santana were home, and nothing but the juiciest gossip would convince them to leave him be, after months away.

"It's about damn time, Lady Lips. I was starting to think you'd joined the Celibacy Club," Santana continued.

"Oh, shut up, I still love sex. I just like monogamy too," Kurt said.

Rachel snorted indelicately and crossed her arms over her chest.

Kurt eyed her. The beaming smile she'd greeted him with 20 minutes earlier had been replaced with a scowl. "What?"

"Nothing." She left the couch to scoop her bag off the coffee table. "I have rehearsals."

"Wait, Kurt gives us the best piece of gossip we've had in months, and you have nothing to say about it?" Santana pried. "Rachel I-always-have-an-opinion Berry?"

"I don't think Kurt wants to hear my opinion," Rachel said, eyes over bright under her bangs. She disappeared into her bedroom, the curtain falling behind her.

Kurt and Santana exchanged befuddled glances and mouthed in unison: Three – Two – One -

"Okay, you want to hear my opinion, Kurt?" Rachel threw her curtains open dramatically and stormed back to the couch with boots on. "I think Blaine is playing you."

Silence. "Come again?"

"He. Is. Playing. You," she enunciated. "I think you’re fooling yourself into thinking he wants a relationship, when actually you're going to be a notch on his belt."

Kurt stared at her. Hard. He looked up at the ceiling, rolled his neck and pursed his lips. She was right; he didn't want to hear her opinion. "While I appreciate your... input on the discussion," he said levelly, "I disagree. You don't know him. I do."

She cocked her head shrewdly. "What happened to the guy who claimed he would never give Blaine Anderson the time of day?"

"He got to know him and changed his mind," Kurt bit.

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "You think you _know_ him?"

"Better than you do."

Turning away to rifle through her script draw, she scoffed. "I really didn't see this coming. I didn't think you'd be so blind and irresponsible."

Kurt glared at her. "What are you talking about, Rachel? How is it irresponsible to want a relationship with a man who likes me as much as I like him?"

"Because you don't want the same things!" she yelled, slapping the script she'd been searching for down on the draw. "This isn't going to end with you in a relationship with Blaine Anderson, Kurt. This is going to end with you broken hearted and wishing you'd listened when he leaves you on the sidewalk like a piece of gum."

"Oh, will you just-" Kurt screwed his eyes shut against the temptation to scream. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"His _manager_ warned you about him," Rachel pointed out. "Remember that? He said this is what Blaine does. He seduces people who work for him and drops them the moment he gets bored."

"Yes, he did," Kurt conceded, "but he's also the man who ripped up my old contract and removed the clause preventing a relationship. Why would he do that if he thought Blaine would do that to me?"

"Because he wants Blaine out of the tabloids, you idiot!" Rachel prodded her finger into his chest. "You _actually_ think the manager of the most famous boy band in the world would alter a contract out of the goodness of his heart?"

Kurt blinked at her dumbly. That's exactly what he thought.

"Take it from someone who has more experience with the industry, babe." She backed him against the kitchen wall, her abrasive personality making up for a lack of intimidating stature. "Blaine's behavior given the band a bad rep. Wes is holding you out like a carrot to a donkey, because he wants Blaine to settle down without his intervention."

"I... shut up."

He nudged her backwards and took off for his bedroom. Rachel sensed she’d struck a nerve though and was intent on making her point clear and understood.

"If he doesn't take the bait, which I suspect he won't by the way," Rachel called after him, "Wes will get rid of you to eliminate the distraction. If you don't quit on your own."

"Rachel," Santana hissed.

Kurt snatched his satchel off of his bed and wiped at his cheeks. His toes were curling into his boots to stop himself marching out there to slap Rachel.

"No, Santana, he needs to hear this," Rachel said.

Kurt rolled his eyes, took a steadied breath and walked out and past her, his destination the exit. Eyes scorched into the back of his head.

"I get that he must have seriously laid on the nice-guy routine to fool you this easily," she continued, "but: It's. An. Act."

"No it's not." He slid the front door open.

"Yes it is! He'll be bragging about the frigid assistant he nailed for years. You'll be the punchline at all the celebrity parties."

Okay, that's it!

Kurt spun on his heel and yelled, "Rachel, I told you to shut up!" Tears he would be _damned_ before he allowed her to see fall, pooled in his eyes. "Why is it so hard for you to just say the words, 'I'm happy for you' and keep your opinions to yourself, like the rest of the human race learns as children?"

"Because I'm not happy for you, Kurt," she shouted back shrilly. "I'm angry."

"About what?" he demanded. "That I'm happy? That I moved out of your shadow? That I get to travel the world? That I almost have a boyfriend again? Are you jealous, is that it?"

"What's there to be jealous of? Being used and tossed out like trash? Get over yourself, Kurt!"

Kurt grinned up at the ceiling. "You're telling _me_ to get over _my_ self? You think that's a valid thing for _you_ of all people to say? Let me ask you this and I want you to answer truthfully: When was the last time you called to ask what's happening in my life?"

Rachel was startled by the topic change. "I- what? Yesterday."

"Wrong. You called yesterday to ask me to rate your English accent. You didn't ask what I was doing. Not once."

"Yeah, I was listening in on that conversation, Man Hands, and you didn't," Santana chimed in.

"You stay out of this," Rachel hissed at her.

"Oh, fuck off." Santana eyed her coldly. "You're being a huge bitch right now and if I have to live here, I'm not going to be silenced by the Diva of Fleet Street."

"I don't have time for this," Rachel said, looking around for her jacket. "I have rehearsals."

"Yeah, you do that, walk away the moment the argument stops going your way," Kurt snarled.

"You know what, I will walk away from this, Kurt, because if this is what I get for trying to be a good friend to you, then you can go to hell." She pulled her jacket on and paused to shake her head. "You might not appreciate me, but I deserve better. Good luck with your fake boyfriend."

She slid the door Kurt had left wide open, shut behind her. The floor tremored as silence fell. Kurt could have laughed at the absurdity of the situation had he not been so pissed off.

"So, that was... interesting," Santana said.

Kurt's mouth opened and closed several times, thoughts jumping around so fleetingly that he could barely register one before another bumped it aside.

"I'm not frigid."

Santana quirked a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him. "All the things she said, and that's the part that upset you?"

"That's not what I-"

"Hey, I would have been pissed about that too."

"Is she right?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "How the fuck would I know? I've never made a habit of listening in on your bedroom habits, although I suspect it's mostly moisturizing and masturbation that goes on in there. The two not necessarily exclusive."

"Not my sex life!" Kurt snapped. " _Blaine_. Am I- am I wrong to trust him when he says he likes me? Am I really just some twisted game to him?"

"Who plays a game like that for eight months, Kurt?"

"Someone who has a wager on." Oh god, what if the entire band are in on it?

"Okay, no." Santana adjusted herself on the couch and socked him in the back of the head. "Get Berry out of your head right now, Kurt, or you're going to fuck up your relationship with Anderson _and_ your employers by accusing them of shit they haven't done."

"I- right. You're right." He scrunched his eyes up and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I just can't believe she thinks I'm that stupid."

“Kurt, she’s a jerk,” Santana said. “And she’ll come crawling back and accuse you of being ungrateful, remind everyone she’s the most talented princess on Berry Island and go back to talking about herself, until we want to drown her in vegan soup.”

Kurt cocked his head, considering her, dropped his satchel on the floor and took the seat beside her. “She’s been getting to you, huh?”

“I can’t escape her,” Santana snapped, planting her head in Kurt’s lap. “All it is these days is, ‘Oh I’m so talented, my Miss Honey will be the best ever, my English accent is awesome.'” She shifted around to get comfortable. Kurt waited for her rant to continue. “I could ignore her better when you were here to talk to.”

“Sorry.”

“Shut it, Hummel, I don’t want your guilt,” she said. “She gets like this every time she gets a new job, and she’s so self-absorbed she can’t see the bragging makes us miserable.”

“So... still no luck with a record deal?” he surmised carefully.

“All the labels in this city are tone deaf."

"I know."

"I'm considering entering a fucking reality show. That's how bad it is. It worked for your guy."

"Yeah..." Kurt twiddled her shiny black hair thoughtfully. "I know it sounds good, but they don't control their output and still pay for Got Talent launching them," he explained. "Their way may have been faster, but it's not been easier in the long run."

"You could let me know if the Warblers need back-up," she suggested. "I could be the sixth member they need to appeal to the straight male demographic."

"You're a lesbian."

"I've still gots a great pair of tits. They deserve their own fan base."

He chuckled fondly. "I know you don't do sentiment, Lopez, but I won't make a habit of it... I've missed you."

She was silent for so long, he assumed she'd chosen to ignore him.

"You too, Hummel."

* * *

Kurt tried to block out Rachel's words. Deep down he knew her reaction had its roots in jealousy. And yet, he couldn't help but wonder if she had a point. Perhaps Blaine's intentions _are_ noble, but were they always? Had he intended to 'fuck and chuck' like every assistant before? Was that still going to happen? When did he change his mind?

Kurt glanced into the recording booth, smiling when Blaine, dressed today in a simple black shirt and tight jeans, socked Trent playfully in the shoulder. The Warblers had been hard at work all morning, headphones in place, finalizing their latest EP with the producer, Sam Evans.

"Be honest, is it ready?" Wes asked Sam. His suit was pristine, if a little creased from anxiously fidgeting.

"It's still a little rough," Sam admitted. "The songwriter clearly intended this track to be sung in a higher register. And with Delgada off the project, it's taking longer to rearrange."

"I knew we shouldn't have gone with one of Luvdall’s songs,” Wes muttered. “But we're nearly there?"

"Look, dude, I get that you're under pressure to get this out-" Sam began.

"-They've already shot the video," Wes cut in.

"Right, I get that. But if I'm honest, instead of dumping the collaboration, you guys should have found another girl to sing with them."

"You think I didn't try that?" Wes snapped. "Selena Gomez, Demi Lovato, Ariana Grande and Cher Lloyd all expressed interest, but none of them are available right now!"

"Does it need to be a famous recording artist?" Kurt piped up from his corner.

Wes narrowed his eyes. "Pardon?"

"I mean, I," Kurt swallowed, "just because the big name artists are too busy, doesn't mean there aren't newer female singers who would jump at the chance to work with them. Have any been signed to Canary Records lately?"

Wes drummed his fingers on his arm, brows furrowed.

"Or you could look on YouTube or something," Kurt continued, emboldened.

"It's worth a shot, dude," Sam agreed amiably.

Wes took his glasses off, polished them and pressed the intercom button. "Lunch is being served downstairs, guys. Follow the smell."

He cut off the band's whooping. "Kurt, please find Quinn and ask her to book the earliest meeting with Eric Marker," Wes said.

Smirking at the thumbs up Sam aimed his way, Kurt left the studio to find Quinn and her mountain of admin work. Before he could enter the elevator though, a hand snatched his tablet from his grip. Kurt startled, but soon relaxed when a familiar arm looped around his waist.

His eyes fluttered closed, head against Blaine's left shoulder. "I need that, you know."

A swift kiss to Kurt's neck. "You'll get it back."

"I thought we agreed it was hands off until we'd been grown-ups about this?" Kurt said, turning in Blaine's grip to loop his arms around his neck. 

Blaine's tongue was hot against Kurt's and the question slipped his mind for several minutes, content to let himself be kissed and held. He would never admit that Rachel's accusations had fanned his insecurities, but he wasn't above accepting any reassurance Blaine could offer.

"I know," Blaine said when he broke away. "But you can't seriously expect me to keep my hands off you in these jeans."

Kurt laughed into Blaine's hair, and bit his lip when said hands smoothed up and down his back.

“And I wanted to give you this,” Blaine added, plucking a single gerbera flower from his back pocket and holding it out to Kurt.

“Blaine!” Kurt exclaimed.

“I said I was gonna’ woo you,” Blaine reminded him.

“Well, now I feel like an asshole. All I have for you is half a packet of Tic Tac’s.”

“And now I’m self-conscious about my breath,” Blaine deadpanned.

Taking the flower between his fingers, Kurt rolled his eyes and gave the corridor a cursory look for spying eyes, so he could pepper Blaine’s lips with kisses. Blaine nuzzled their noses together, fingertips sliding into Kurt’s back pockets.

"We're in a corridor at work. Anyone could walk by and see this," Kurt whispered.

“Let them look,” Blaine said lightly. He tilted his head when Kurt didn’t respond. "You okay? You've been quiet all morning."

"I’m fine.” Kurt sighed when Blaine raised a coy eyebrow. "It's just Rachel. We had a fight last night."

He frowned. "A fight? You just got home."

"I know." Kurt hesitated, heart thudding in his throat. There was no point in lying. "She can't let tabloid-Blaine go. She thinks you're not interested in being my boyfriend, and you just..."

Blaine tilted his head in understanding. He knew what the press said about him. "What do you think?" he murmured.

"I think she's a bitch," Kurt said.

"No, about me," Blaine said. He took a step back, eyebrows knitted together. "Do you think I'm not serious?"

"I..." Kurt bit his lip and examined a scuff on his loafers. "I don't know."

"... Oh."

Kurt pulled Blaine in at the waist again, traced his fingers over his jawline. "Hey, it’s not like that… I'm not going anywhere," he whispered. “I hadn’t even considered the possibility until she yelled it at me.”

Blaine nodded and rubbed his flat palms up and down Kurt’s chest. “So, to sum it up, a girl I've never met thinks I'm trying to trick you into bed?”

Kurt nodded.

Blaine seemed flustered by the accusation but not surprised. “Amazing. You sleep with a couple of blokes and suddenly you’re Casanova. You know I would never do that to you, right?” Blaine tilted Kurt’s chin with his thumb and forefinger, nudged their noses together. “I know I can be a bad tempered idiot, but I would never intentionally hurt you. Not like that.”

“I know,” Kurt whispered.

* * *

Did he know though? It was so easy to let himself believe Blaine when they were together, when his kisses and words chased away doubts. But then he was alone again with his thoughts, and Rachel’s words mocked him.

_‘He'll be bragging about the frigid assistant he nailed for years. You'll be the punchline at all the celebrity parties.'_

"This is stupid," Kurt said to the coffee swilling around his cardboard cup.

His former New York coffee shop seemed almost unfamiliar now he'd been away so long. The interior was exactly as it had been, the same chairs and tables, same barista behind the counter, the same mustard yellow walls. It was his life that had changed, and he couldn't find the peace once supplied by the scent of roasted coffee beans.

No, he needed a wiser man’s help. Knowing he'd be at the garage (against the doctor’s orders), Kurt called his dad's office, and after the usual pleasantries got straight to the point.

"I- I need some advice."

_"I'm listening."_

So Kurt told his father everything. He explained about the changes to his contract and their reluctance to jump into a relationship. He even gave a vague outline of Blaine's issues with Jeremiah, finally ending on his argument with Rachel.

“She thinks he's playing me,” Kurt mumbled. “She thinks his nice-guy persona is just his way of…” God, did he really have to say this to his father? “His way of charming me into- into-”

_“I get the picture, Kurt.”_

“Right. So, um...”

 _“-Isn’t Rachel the one that kid from another show choir tricked into dating him when you were high school sophomores?”_ Burt cut in.

“Yeah,” Kurt said. “Jesse St. James was her boyfriend and was feeding Vocal Adrenaline information about us. Then he dumped her and made breakfast on her head.”

 _“Right.”_ Kurt could practically see him, sat in his office, scrubbing his bald head under his cap. _“And in your freshman year at NYADA, wasn’t she played by that Brody character?”_

“How did you know about that?” Kurt asked.

_“Finn is as subtle as a sledgehammer, Kiddo. I know he went and beat that guy when it turned out he was a gigolo. The point is, she’s been lied to, manipulated and played, so of course she’s gonna’ be suspicious of Blaine. She’s speaking from experience.”_

“Oh.” Kurt drummed his fingers on his lap. He hadn’t thought of it that way.

_“And as any good friend would, and like you and Santana did for her when Brody turned out to be shady, she’s looking out for you.”_

“You think she’s right?”

“ _What do you think?”_ Burt asked. _“Rachel knows what it’s like to be played, but does she know Blaine personally?”_

“No, she’s never met him.”

_“So you’ve gotta' think about this in terms of your own situation, Kurt. Her perspective is biased and she doesn’t know Blaine. You do. Do you think he’s playing you? Have you ever doubted him?”_

“No… that’s the thing, Dad. I never once even considered it. Not since I got to know him. And I’m worried that she’s right, that I’ve been stupid and careless and allowed someone I care about to mess with me.”

Burt sighed on the other end. _“I don’t know what to tell you, son, but if you want my opinion?”_

“Yes, please.”

_“I don’t think he’s playing you.”_

“You- you don’t?”

_“That kid arranged for you to be flown across the Atlantic and took time off work to make sure you were okay. Behind the record company’s back, I might add.”_

“...I don’t follow that last part.”

_“He didn’t tell you? The private plane you flew over in belongs to the CEO of Canary Records. They don't just have instant access to it. Apparently he called in a favor with the guy's son, got him to tell daddy he was using the plane to visit friends here in the States.”_

Sebastian. What kind of favor?

“When did Blaine tell you this?”

_“Back at the hospital. You took off with Carole the moment football came on the TV. Kurt, he got you that flight home despite the trouble he could have caused. And from what you’ve just told me about the drama with his ex-boyfriend, he’s been played in the past too. Why would he intentionally hurt someone he cares about the same way? I saw the way he looks at you, Kurt. I may not be the smartest, but I know... affection when I see it.”_

Kurt drummed his fingers on the stained coffee table. "You were going to say _love_ , weren't you?"

His dad was silent and Kurt wondered if he should repeat himself until a sigh came over the line. _"Kurt, do you really want a confirmation of that boy's feelings from your old man, of all people?"_

"…No. I guess not."

Silence again.

_"You love him, don't you?"_

"If I do, shouldn't the first person to hear me say it be him?" Kurt said lightly.

_"Touché."_

"He's right to remind me about his job though," Kurt said. "I've been with them so long I forget they're famous outside of work. And we've been in a quiet period. A few festivals and charity gigs here and there, but mostly the recording studio. Can I really do this, knowing how exposed we'll be?" 

_"You'll only be exposed if you allow yourself to be, Kurt."_

"He has 24 million Twitter followers, Dad."

 _"I'm not entirely sure what you just said,"_ Burt admitted, _"but I'll take it to mean he's popular? Look, Kurt, what do you want me to say? I don't know how all this crap works with the PR folks and the paparazzi. What I do know is that it's_ your _life. You don't have to broadcast anything. Okay, so occasionally you might be spotted at a restaurant or walking down the street, and some anonymous strangers will over analyze and comment, but so what? They still won't_ know _you. You're so much more than gossip on the internet."_

He was right. He was always right. "I love you, Dad."

_"You too, kiddo.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rachel means well in her misguided way.


	24. Precipice

Nights off were a rare luxury for Team Warbler. Showbiz parties were exhausting for the boys and their team, because so much importance was placed on networking with performers, producers, writers and backers who could advance their careers.

Kurt enjoyed the daytime far more over the next week. Mercedes was using the time while the boys were locked in the studio, to teach Kurt the ins and outs of styling a successful boy band, figuring it was better to familiarize him with the job while the band were at a standstill. Then she would surrender him to the boys in the evenings, to stick by them at press events.

It was exhausting for all, so when a much needed night off presented itself nine days into their two week stay in New York, Kurt took off for home. He needed the breathing space to collect his thoughts, and come to a decision about the direction his life was taking.

Potential stylist. Dating a celebrity. There'd been no time to mull the pros and cons over in the week following the conversation with his dad.

And with Santana working the late shift in the diner, and Rachel – who Kurt still wasn't speaking to – staying at the theatre until the early hours, his solitary night was set in stone.

"Why's she working so late, anyway?" Kurt asked Santana nonchalantly. "Surely the kids in Matilda can't stay that late."

"She's made up her own schedule," Santana explained. "For someone who joined a production with a lot of kids in it, she's avoiding them _really_ well."

"They probably ruin the acoustics for her," Kurt replied sarcastically.

Kurt shouldered the loft door open just after seven, cooked himself a simple tomato sauce to mix with spaghetti and settled on the sofa to catch up on The Bachelorette, glass of wine at hand.

He was three episodes in when his phone rang.

Smiling at the caller ID, he accepted the call. "Hey, you."

_"Can I come see you, please?"_

Kurt frowned. "Are you okay?"

 _"Um, no, not really. I uh..."_ Blaine sighed. Kurt could imagine him, finger pressed to his brow, like he does when he's frustrated. _"It's a long story. Nick and I pissed off some people."_

"Record company people?"

_"Yes. I went out for a walk to cool off and I'm now kind of... stuck in the loos of a cinema, waiting for Puck to come get me."_

"What?” Kurt grabbed the remote from the coffee table and shut off the TV. “I think you skipped some details there. You went to the movies by yourself?"

_"Yes?"_

"Blaine-"

 _"-I know, I know it was stupid. I just wanted to get away and Puck’s the only bodyguard. He was with his kid. I didn’t want to drag him away, and I watch movies all the time in London. People don't usually care,"_ Blaine hurried to explain. _"How was I supposed to know a blockbuster opened today? Apparently it's based off a young adult novel. The girls spotted me when I was buying popcorn and a staff member hauled me into the men's room."_

"Okay, let me make sure I'm following this. You went to a movie theater in..."

 _"Manhattan,"_ Blaine supplied.

"And why wouldn’t you? It’s not overpopulated with tourists at all,” Kurt said drolly. “And it's the release day of a popular franchise. You don't have a bodyguard with you, and were spotted buying popcorn by the hormonal audience of the aforementioned franchise. So you’re missing the movie you paid to see, because the staff didn’t escort you to the correct screening room?"

_"That about sums it up."_

"Blaine." Kurt groaned loudly, for lack of coherent words to communicate his exasperation.

_"I was in a bad mood and had an error of judgment."_

“Uh huh." The back of Kurt's head hit the cushion on the armrest. "Remember to get a refund on the way out."

_"You’re enjoying this a bit much, mister. I was nearly trampled by a swarm of teenagers, and that's your priority?"_

"Hey, movie tickets are pricey. Did you at least grab the popcorn before you were smuggled into the restroom?" Kurt didn’t bother hiding his amusement.

_"No, that's the worst part. I'm starving."_

Kurt chuckled softly.

_"Stop laughing!”_

Kurt did no such thing.

_“This is serious, Kurt. I've got bruises up my arms from all the grabbing."_

"And whose fault is that?"

_"A little sympathy wouldn't kill you."_

"Fine, poor baby. Are you injured?"

_"No."_

"Then I think I'm allowed a little fun at your expense."

_"I hate you."_

"No you don't. How long's Puck going to be?" Kurt asked.

_"He said 20 minutes a while ago. Can I please come to yours? I really can't listen to another lecture today, I'll staple something to Wes’ head if I go back to the hotel."_

The giggles silenced, like a door slamming shut in a gust of wind. Blaine. Coming to see Kurt in the apartment he shared with his high school friends?

Kurt swallowed. "Of course you can come over. I- Rachel's avoiding the apartment, so you won't get any grief from her. At least not tonight. Do you need me to come find you?"

_"No, Puck's bringing a car. Just give me your address and I'll get to you. Bushwick, right?"_

"Yeah. I'll text the address. Be careful, okay?"

_"I always am. Not including today. This incident is being struck from the records."_

Not if the guys have anything to say about it. "I'll see you soon."

Shit, shit, shit!

Dumping his glass of wine on the coffee table, Kurt flew into his bedroom in search of an outfit to change into. Settling on a pink shirt, a fitted black jacket that cinched in his waist, and tight grey jeans, Kurt hung them on his rail and tidied his bedroom. Changing the sheets, making sure all signs of unmentionable and embarrassing possessions were out of sight.

He moved onto the apartment. What would he think of their home? The loft was just a big room he, Rachel, and Santana had converted into a living space with carefully placed curtain partitions and strategic furniture. A stylish but cluttered mess of three separate personalities coming together, in one of the most expensive cities in the world.

Blaine, by comparison, was used to luxury. Even before he became one fifth of a successful boy band, he'd attended a private boarding school, _and_ lived and traveled the world with his parents. Just the other week he placed his house on the market for a dizzying £2.5 million.

Kurt's accommodation was a joke in comparison.

"Shut up, Kurt. He won't care," Kurt muttered, scrubbing at dried cheese on the kitchen counter. "He's seen the house you grew up in. It didn't make him think less of you. Rachel's wrong. You know him."

Only when he received a text to say Blaine was five minutes away, did Kurt scramble into the outfit he'd hung up. By the time Blaine was making his way up to the apartment, Kurt had chewed up an emergency mint and muted The Bachelorette.

When he slid the front door of the loft open, Kurt was greeted not by a familiar face, but a hand holding an enormous bunch of yellow and red roses.

"...Hey?"

Blaine lowered the bouquet and smiled bashfully at Kurt through his lashes. "I love New York. Florists work late. These are for you."

"Blaine," Kurt cooed. He took the gift into his arms and beckoned Blaine inside. "You didn't have to get me more flowers." He already had a vase full of gerbera’s, one for every day they’d been in New York.

Blaine shook his head and pecked Kurt on the lips gently. "I wanted to."

Nose buried in the blooms, Kurt hummed his approval. "They're beautiful."

"The florist was a bit scary,” Blaine admitted. “I told her they were for a friend, just in case she recognized me. She said, _‘No one buys roses for a friend, unless they’re hoping for a little something-something’_.”

“Oh?” Kurt ducked his head.

"Red roses are the traditional flower for romance and yellow roses acknowledge friendship," Blaine continued, unaware Kurt's heart was beating out a salsa. "I think a combination of the two is pretty fitting for us right now, don't you think?"

"Yeah. I think so," Kurt said. "Let me put these in water. Make yourself at home."

Kurt grabbed a vase from the cabinet next to the sink and took a moment to flail internally, lips pursing from the effort to contain it.

Blaine hung his jacket on the coat stand by the door and perched on the sofa to examine the space around him, while Kurt filled the vase with water, cut the ends off the roses to encourage them to drink, and brought them out to the living area. Centering the vase on the coffee table, Kurt scuttled back to the kitchen to grab an extra wine glass for Blaine, joining him on the sofa.

"Hi there," he said.

"Hey." Blaine took a tentative sip of his wine.

"So, you wanna’ talk about what upset you enough to run into the fan girls’ lair?" Kurt teased.

Blaine cringed, wary eyes on Kurt. "Nick and I... do you remember I told you Nick and I write songs together?"

"Yeah. Still no luck there?"

Blaine shook his head. "Yes and no. Five of the songs Sam’s produced for our new album are written by a guy called Ben Luvdall."

Kurt tilted his head in recognition. "Nick's friend?" he clarified. "The guy whose letters keep coming to me?"

"That’s the one."

"Did they not know he was a friend of Nick's?"

"Um... no, not exactly." Blaine cleared his throat uncomfortably and drank more wine.

“... Did you guys help him write the songs? Has he taken all the credit behind your backs?”

“No.”

“Then what? Blaine, you’re being deliberately obtuse. Either tell me or don’t.”

“Ben Luvdall can’t steal our songs because he doesn't exist," Blaine blurted.

"He- what? I don't understand. I've been collecting mail for the guy, how can he not..." Kurt trailed off. Wait, 'Luvdall'...?

"Duvall!" Kurt exclaimed. "Nick's using a penname to get his songs on the album!"

"No... _We_ are using a penname to get _our_ songs on the album," Blaine corrected.

Kurt’s eyes closed with clarity. He placed his glass on the table. "Ben is 'Blaine'?"

"Yes."

“I-” Kurt fumbled with this new information. “How long? Why?"

"A few months," Blaine said. "Kurt, we've been presenting our songs for three years, and they've said no to every single one of them. We wanted to find out if they were turning them down because they're written by us, or if they are genuinely bad songs. So we created an alias and submitted some songs they’ve never heard. And you know what?"

"They liked them?" Kurt guessed.

"They _loved_ them. Kurt, you realize what this means? It's not that we're not talented. They were judging the songs before they even heard them. I don't think they were even listening to them. Just chucking them in a draw."

"But, why?"

"To better control us? That's what I think. Nick's convinced there's more to it," said Blaine. He smiled softly, eyes faraway. "To record songs that were written by us, it feels like the _real_ us is finally going to be out there, not just the songs tailored to suit our image. Even if they're not credited by our real names. So we just kept submitting them to get an honest opinion from them."

"Blaine, how long did you guys think you could get away with it?"

Blaine sighed. "We didn't mean to drag it out. We just wanted to prove a point. But then Nick voted to keep up the charade and the lie got bigger and bigger, until I didn’t know how to fix it... I still don’t know what to do. Wes is furious with us for lying."

"How did he find out?"

"Sam let it slip in a meeting this morning," Blaine said bitterly. “And I'd just convinced Nick we should come clean. We were going to tell Wes when we got back to London. Now I don't know if we're in deep shit with the record company, or if we'll get a slap on the wrists and keep our songs on the new album."

"And the envelopes have been coming to me, because Ben Luvdall doesn't have a pulse, let alone an address, right?" Kurt surmised.

"Yes," Blaine confirmed, head to the side as he watched Kurt fidget with his fingernails. Something in Kurt's tone must have caught his attention.

"Can I ask why I wasn't told?" Kurt avoided Blaine's eye.

"Kurt..."

"It's just, usually when I'm an accomplice, I like to be a little more prepared," Kurt continued sarcastically.

"Kurt. I didn't know you were involved until you asked me who Ben was," Blaine explained, edging closer to Kurt on the sofa. "It was Nick's idea to have Sam send the documents for 'Ben' to you, just in case they checked our mail."

"That was _Sam_ sending me stuff?"

"It wasn’t important. Nothing that would have implicated you. Nick thought you seemed like the least likely person to be involved, so no one would question you about it. And he wasn't wrong."

"That's not the point, Blaine," Kurt exclaimed. "What if I’d mentioned it to someone I shouldn't? No one told me anything when I started receiving these things. Was I supposed to read your minds and just know? You didn't have to tell me the whole story, but clearer instructions would have been helpful."

"Kurt, I told him to find another way." Wine glass beside Kurt's, Blaine took his hand into his lap. "I thought he had until you brought it up again. And I didn't tell you because I figured they couldn't blame you if you were genuinely in the dark." 

"I may as well become a mail man. Everyone already thinks I am," Kurt griped.

"Kurt, I'm sorr-"

"I'm not done talking, Blaine Anderson!" Kurt snapped. "We have _got_ to stop hiding things from one another."

"I know, I agree-"

"Still talking." Kurt hooked a leg over Blaine's lap and straddled him, hand over his mouth.

Blaine's wide eyes stared up at him, mouth obediently shut beneath Kurt's fingers.

"From now on, if you guys are plotting something, I want to be told before you even _think_ about involving me. I'm a big boy. If I want to be involved, I will be."

"I -ever -aid -oo- eren," Blaine tried to say.

Kurt raised his eyebrow sternly. "I've always said I'm on your side. If you had just told me you guys needed a discreet way to communicate, I would have said yes. Because I _want_ to help you guys. I think it’s terrible your songs aren't your own. And I meant what I said about helping counter the bullshit, but I can't do that if you keep me in the dark. Okay?"

Blaine nodded, Kurt's fingers still preventing him from speaking aloud.

"Okay. Now…” Kurt threaded Blaine hair through his fingers. “We have an unexpected night to ourselves. You’re here. I’m here. You bought me the most beautiful bouquet I have ever seen, and I've got left over spaghetti in the fridge for you. We're gonna' forget the drama for one night and make this into that date you promised me. I’ve got a whole cheesecake still to eat. I can light some candles. What do you say?”

Blaine kissed Kurt’s knuckles reverently. “Sounds perfect.”

“Good.”

Kurt hopped from his lap. "Do you want this cold or should I heat it up?"

"Hot, please," Blaine said.

Kurt left the Saran wrap over the bowl so the sauce wouldn't dry out and set the microwave to heat for two minutes. When he turned, it was to find Blaine had followed him into the kitchen.

“Oh!”  Kurt rubbed his palms against Blaine's chest, smiling into the tongue-led kiss Blaine bestowed upon him with an approving hum. He loved that he stood on his toes to do so, and Kurt grasped at the collar of Blaine's shirt to keep him right there.

"Did you eat your popcorn in the end?" he asked against Blaine's lips.

"No, the bucket's by the sofa."

"Butter?"

"What else?"

* * *

An hour later, spaghetti consumed, large slice of strawberry cheesecake devoured between them, the two cuddled up on the sofa so Kurt could introduce Blaine to his favorite reality shows. 

"If there's one thing I miss about home it's the trashy TV," Kurt said wistfully, swilling his wine around the glass. "I'm so behind on all my shows. I can't argue over The Bachelorette, Project Runway or Real Housewives with Rachel until weeks after she's seen an episode."

His stomach dropped at the thought of Rachel.

"You guys will work things out, you know," Blaine said. His head was snuggled into Kurt's chest.

"You don't know Rachel," Kurt replied. "We’re too similar. The war will be long when we clash."

"She loves you." Blaine scooped popcorn from the tub on the floor and slipped a couple of bites into Kurt’s mouth. “She wouldn't have reacted so strongly about me if she didn't."

"Dad said that. He said she's just trying to protect me."

"Smart man, your dad." Blaine mused. “If it will help end the war, I promise to try and placate her. I know we’re not... official, but I need to prove myself genuine, anyway. May as well start with Rachel.” 

“She’s hard work,” Kurt warned.

"And as for the reality shows, allow me to introduce you to trashy UK TV when we get back to London. I'm talking Made in Chelsea, The Only Way is Essex, Geordie Shore-"

"Excuse me? You mean Jersey Shore?"

"Nope, Geordie Shore. It's the UK version about people from Newcastle," Blaine explained. "Desperate Scousewives is about people from Liverpool."

"You're kidding?"

"Ooooh! You've gotta' watch My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding!" Blaine exclaimed. "We're watching that first. The weddings are completely over the top and you'll love critiquing the dresses."

“I do love being judgmental,” Kurt said with a dramatic sigh.

“Don’t I know it,” Blaine deadpanned.

Kurt pinched him. “Hey! I completely changed my mind about you.”

“And I’m glad.” Blaine muted the TV and adjusted so he was lying face-to-face with Kurt. “For a really long time I thought I’d messed up any chance of keeping you.”

Heart thudding, stomach squirming, Kurt said breathlessly, “Well, I’m here now.”

He framed Blaine’s face with his hands and kissed him sweetly, sneaking his tongue past his teeth and smiling when Blaine rolled gently onto his back, pulling Kurt over him.

“My dad told me something really interesting last week,” Kurt said, lips ghosting Blaine's collarbone to his ear.

“Hmmm?”

“He said the private plane you flew me home in belongs to Jonathan Smythe. And that his son lied to him so we could use it.”

Blaine's eyes shuttered open, lips parting in surprise.

“You didn’t have to do anything you regret to get me home, did you?” Kurt asked worriedly.

Blaine held Kurt’s chin steady. “No.”

“Look, I know Sebastian is kind of a jerk-”

“Hey, no.” Blaine lifted up on his elbows and traced Kurt’s hairline with his thumb. “He owed me a favor.”

Kurt pursed his lips doubtfully.

“Kurt, he’s not got me on a leash he can tug every time he wants a one night stand.”

“I didn’t think-” Kurt sighed and dropped his forehead to Blaine’s neck. His head was fuzzy. “I just worry. I don’t like knowing people hooked up with you. It makes me uncomfortable, and Sebastian’s an ass, I…”

“Kurt?”

Kurt met Blaine’s wide, earnest, golden eyes.

“Say the word and I’m yours. _Only_ yours," Blaine said fiercely. "The only way I can prove that to you is over time. I’m willing to give that. And you think I don’t have my own concerns? You’re still friends with your ex. Do you have any idea how jealous I was when you saw his musical?”

“How do you know he's my ex?”

“I’m not completely obtuse. Give me some credit," Blaine chided. "I drove myself mad that night, thinking about you and him. I thought you still had feelings for this faceless guy and the pair of you would rub it in my face. And then I met him when I picked you up from that horrible night at the pub, and he was... not ugly."

Kurt couldn't help it. He laughed, the disgruntled scrunch of Blaine's face, completely priceless.

"I was counting on him being ugly, Kurt." Blaine was entirely at ease with Kurt mocking him. "And to top it off, he's English too, so I didn't even have _that_ to make you notice me."

"Oh, Blaine!"

"I hated him for inviting you into that situation too.”

That was a sobering comment. “That wasn’t his fault," Kurt argued. "He couldn’t have known Jeremiah would-”

“I know. Logically I know that. The over-protective idiot inside me doesn’t care for logic though, and wants to keep you close.”

“We need to talk about this possessive side,” Kurt decided. “If I wanted a bodyguard for a boyfriend, I’d throw myself at Puck. I don’t need one.”

“I know. I’ll rein in the dragon.” Blaine stretched his arms over his head and arched to work out some of the kinks from Kurt laying on him for so long.

“I can’t believe you wasted your chance to call on Sebastian,” Kurt said regretfully.

“It wasn’t a waste. It was for you.”

Blaine leaned up before Kurt could respond and licked into Kurt’s mouth, tugging him back down with him. Kurt whimpered helplessly. It was as overwhelming as the first kiss, every time. Everything about Blaine was overwhelming. How he looked at him. His hand sneaking under Kurt’s shirt to trace a line of fire up his spine with his gentle fingers. Unguarded tongue happy to confess his feelings without irony. Completely vulnerable to Kurt’s potential rejection.

It made Kurt feel giddy, powerful, dare he even say it, loved.

Like he’d been dragging out his decision for too long, when the answer was so simple, snuggled in the sofa below him, warm and beautiful, waiting patiently for Kurt to say the word.

Blaine dazedly rested back against the armrest again, collecting his thoughts. "Um, we should- we should get some rest,” he said, unaware Kurt was on a precipice, ready to fall. “We've got a long day tomorrow. Wes will be asleep now. I can catch a cab."

"Blaine, you're not leaving. And you're not sleeping on this couch," Kurt added, when Blaine tried to argue. "And besides, call me modern, but I usually let my boyfriend sleep in my bed."

That caught Blaine's attention. He sat up, nearly unseating Kurt from his lap, eyes wide in hope. "Boyfriend?"

Kurt swallowed. "Yeah. I thought about it and... Yeah."

"It's not going to be easy."

"I know.” His hands wound their way around Blaine’s neck. “The fame thing is a complication, but I talked to my dad, and... We’ll only be as exposed as we allow ourselves to be. Right?"

"... Right."

"I think you're worth it. I trust you."

Blaine drew in a shuddering breath. "You...?"

"I trust you, Blaine," Kurt said, with more conviction. "I trust you. And I want to be with you, if-"

Blaine lunged forward, kissing Kurt feverishly, again and again and again. Kurt squeaked and clung to his shirt to stay upright. Arms came up to hold him securely. Safe. He always felt so safe with Blaine. 

"Is that a yes?" Kurt asked between deep, worshipful kisses. His blood was thrumming through his body.

Cradling Kurt’s face between his palms, like he was the most precious thing he'd ever held, Blaine whispered, "What do you think?"

Kurt ducked his head bashfully. Breathe deep. Courage.

"I think my boyfriend should come to bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the cliffhanger, but you never know what you've got in store for Christmas, so... 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has left such encouraging comments and kudos. I didn't expect anywhere near the response this fic has had.


	25. Take The Leap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays :) And if you don't celebrate anything, happy December.

Kurt backed up and slid past the curtain hiding his bedroom from view. Blaine took in the space; fairy lights lined the brick wall above the double bed, the rustic chest of draws, dressing table, trunk and chair Kurt had found at a flea market were cluttered with picture frames, cushions, and notebooks filled with sketches.

"It's not much, but-"

"It's perfect," Blaine interrupted. A small smile curved his lips. "It's so... you."

Kurt blushed, preening at the compliment. Some of the tension carried in his shoulders sank. "Thank you."

"This whole apartment is cozy," Blaine continued. "My house is just this big white space with furniture that was there when I moved in. A show home. This is warm."

"Not in the winter," Kurt joked. "We're on the top floor. The landlord never bothered to update the roof insulation. What’s your parents place like?" He pulled Blaine in at the waist.

"Which one? They've still got the house in Surrey. I guess that was the closest I had to a _cozy_ home. When they dropped me off at Dalton, they moved straight to Italy. The place was lived in by me during the holidays and weekends, but all of my parents stuff just sat there, untouched. They didn't need it abroad, but I wasn't allowed to get rid of it." He propped his chin to Kurt's shoulder. "It was like this illusion of a family home. Me, surrounded by the possessions of parents who checked in once a week to make sure I was doing my homework."

Kurt's fingers stroked through Blaine's hair. "That doesn't sound very fair."

"You might be surprised how easily you get used to it," Blaine said lightly.

"Not if it's all you've known," Kurt replied.

He ran his fingers down Blaine's neck, tracing his spine down to his hip and back up again gently. Blaine shuddered, his grip on Kurt's waist tight. Lips pressed to Kurt's neck, just innocent pecks, enough for any intention Kurt had of sleeping to slip his mind. He wanted to find out how talented those lips were. Always had, if he was honest with himself, and he was done resisting the inevitable.

Blaine’s jaw nestled between Kurt’s tender fingers. "I want you," Kurt confessed.

Blaine hummed, nuzzling their noses together. "Shouldn't we wait?" he whispered.

Oh. That wasn't what Kurt had been expecting. He ducked his head, backing up to wrap his arms across his stomach. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you didn't want that. I just assumed-"

"Kurt, no, look at me." Blaine pulled him back in by the fingertips. "Of _course_ I want you. Jesus, I've barely been able to think of anything else since the day I met you. I just... I never did the relationship thing properly. Jeremiah and I jumped straight to sex. There was no wooing. His idea of a date was going to a gay bar and showing me off. The one time I tried to do something romantic for him, he missed it entirely and came home two hours late and drunk."

"I'm struggling to see this good side you claim he has," Kurt grumbled.

"I don't want casual anymore, Kurt," Blaine said. "I want to take you on dates and squabble over who pays. I want to cook for you, go to the movies, surprise you with romantic getaways, spend evenings curled up on the sofa with you like tonight. I want it. And yes, at some point I want to learn every way I can make you moan my name."

Kurt's answering blush could have guided a sleigh through the snow on Christmas Eve. Twitching in his underwear, he forced himself to listen to the words Blaine's pretty mouth shaped, allowing him to cup Kurt's head in his palms and whisper between them.

"But at the end of the day," he said, "I want a life with someone."

Kurt swallowed, his smile tremulous.

"And I know I'm not twenty yet, but I really think that life could be with you. If you'll have me."

"I want that too," Kurt murmured, fixing the collar of Blaine's shirt. His heart thudded in his throat. "But, I think you're forgetting something."

"What?"

"We’ve already been on dates,” Kurt said, looking between Blaine's eyes teasingly.

“We have?”

“Yes.” Kurt wrapped his arms loosely over Blaine’s shoulders. “The day you took me around London and we got ice cream was date number one. Our second date was at the NTA’s-”

“Kurt, that wasn’t a date, you were working,” Blaine exclaimed.

“Wes called me your ‘date for the night’. I’m counting it,” Kurt replied stubbornly, pecking Blaine's lips. “The third date could have been under better circumstances, but you did take me to see a movie when we were in Ohio.”

“To take your mind off your dad!”

“Why are you fighting this? I’m trying to get you laid here,” Kurt said, loosened Blaine’s bowtie, and slid it slowly from his neck.

“Because I’m trying to be a gentleman,” Blaine whined.

“The fourth date,” Kurt continued like he’d never spoken, “was at the pub where we had lunch. Talk of you-know-who aside, it was a date.”

“It wasn’t a date.”

Kurt outlined the chiseled curve of Blaine’s jaw with his lips, stroking his thumb over stubble-roughened cheeks. “I wanted it to be a date,” he confessed.

Blaine’s mouth fell open and closed. He blushed. “I was pretending it was a date. Every time I was alone with you, I wanted it to be one.”

"Windsor wasn't even a pretend date," Kurt pointed out dryly.

Blaine laughed into Kurt's shoulder.

“So, if you think about it,” Kurt said, and trailed his fingers down Blaine’s neck, heart thumping his excitement. He undid the top button of Blaine’s dress shirt. “We’ve been accidentally dating this entire time…”

Kurt stepped back, eyes never leaving Blaine’s enraptured gaze, reached down to pop the buttons on his own jacket, and slid it from his shoulders. It dropped to the floor. Blaine’s mouth opened unconsciously, the breaths pulling in and out of his lungs, harsh and shallow. His eyes raked the length of Kurt’s tall, lean body, from his tight grey jeans to the fitted pink shirt that cinched in his waist and accentuated his broad shoulders.

“Which means,” Kurt continued, smirking when Blaine held his hand out and drew him in and pressed their chests together, “that it’s actually not very forward of me to say this.”

Fascination; the only word Kurt could find for the way Blaine's once golden, now deep brown eyes, were watching him. They darted between Kurt’s.

“To say what?” Blaine asked hoarsely.

Kurt skimmed his lips from Blaine’s cheek to his ear, relishing the excited shiver he induced.

“That I want you to fuck me,” he whispered with a smirk when Blaine's hips adjusted. “That I want to fuck _you_. Again and again...” Teeth teased at Blaine’s earlobe. “And again.”

“Jesus,” Blaine cursed, stood up on his tip toes, and attacked Kurt’s mouth.

Kurt's heartbeat was thundering in his ears, drowning out every sound other than the delicious mewls Blaine couldn't contain. Why had no one told Kurt kissing could feel like _this_? Adam used to make his stomach flip and flutter, but Blaine? It was like a lightning bolt charging every nerve of his body, like lava through his veins. Glorious. Addictive. Blaine was _everything_.

He could feel the other boy's hesitation though, knew he was holding back. Satisfied with Blaine’s blissful, kiss-swollen smile, Kurt brushed away the tiny crease between Blaine's brows with his lips.

“I want you,” Kurt said again.

Blaine's eyes fluttered open. Kurt took a step back and pulled him by the hand towards the bed. He lowered himself to the plush grey duvet, leaning back on his arms and stared up at Blaine, bottom lip between his teeth.

“Kurt, I-” Blaine, who was having a really difficult time controlling himself, scrubbed his hands up and down his face.

There was no hiding the bulge in his pants now Kurt was eye level with it. Kurt wanted to touch it, cup it, and spell out his desires in the language Blaine knew best; physically. He’d laid himself out for the taking. It was time to wait for the bait to be accepted.

“Shit, you are _not_ innocent,” Blaine exclaimed.

“No,” Kurt confirmed. “Not when I want something.” He sat up and after a moment’s pause, released the first few buttons of his shirt. “And what I really want right now is for you to finish undressing me.”

“Kurt,” Blaine said weakly, and lowered himself to his knees at the foot of the bed. “I’m trying so hard to be the right guy for you, to treat you how you deserve, I-”

“I know,” Kurt said, and dropped his feet either side of Blaine’s knees. “You already are the right guy though. That’s what I’m trying to do too: Be good to you, treat you how _you_ deserve. I’m trusting you not to hurt me, because I know you won’t. Not deliberately.”

“Of course not.” Blaine's voice was earnest as he shuffled forward so his hips were enclosed between Kurt’s legs.

"Give and take, right?"

"...Right."

“Please?”

Reserve crumbling, hands shaking, Blaine popped the next button on Kurt’s shirt.

Kurt closed his eyes with a smile of silent victory and tilted his head back to feel Blaine’s fingers ghosting over his chest and stomach, like the flutter of a feathered wing, as he finished Kurt’s buttons. His shirt gapped and Kurt gasped when damp and full lips pressed a reverent line from the sparse hair on his chest, past his navel to the light trail of hair from his belly button and down inside his jeans.

Then his world was tilting, his back hit the soft duvet and Blaine’s body covered his, held up by his forearms. Kurt arched his back happily like a feline, and got to work on Blaine’s shirt.

“ _So_ not innocent,” Blaine said, chuckling. He waited for Kurt to finish, his fingers nimble and steadier than Blaine’s, before sitting up and throwing their shirts to the floor.

Kurt sat up too and kissed Blaine's collarbones. His hot breath pebbled Blaine's nipples and he took the right one between his lips and gently tugged. Choking on a breath, Blaine arched closer in Kurt’s lap, eyes rolling back in his head when Kurt's wet tongue lathed the nipple to sooth the sting.

"What do you want, Blaine?" Kurt asked, finger teasing around the nub of his left nipple.

Blaine twitched. "You."

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“You might want to be more specific,” Kurt said. His fingers ran the length of Blaine's torso, fascinated by the goose bumps he left behind, before dipping the tip of his finger below the line of Blaine's jeans. "Am I getting warmer?"

Blaine whined through a laugh. "You are such a tease."

"I'm your tease, though," Kurt replied, and pulled playfully at Blaine's earlobe.

Blaine's answering smile rivaled the sun at the height of summer. "You're mine," he said, awed, like it was just sinking in.

"Yours," Kurt agreed. He bit his lip. Blaine's were grazing Kurt's knuckles lovingly.

"I've been yours from the moment I laid eyes on you, you know?” Blaine said. “I didn’t know it to begin with, but I was."

An 'I love you' was crying to be known between them. Kurt reigned in the desire. Too much too soon. They had time for that. Right now, Kurt wanted to show him just how far he’d wormed into Kurt's heart.

Lifting up on his knees, Kurt pushed Blaine flat on his back, and smirked when he leaned up on his elbows and spread his legs to better watch Kurt toy with the belt wrapped snuggly around his own jeans. The buckle detached easily, and it was with a dizzying combination of nerves and arousal that he loosened the top button and slid the zipper to its lowest point.

Blaine's eyes darkened further. Zeroed in on Kurt's black boxer briefs, exposed by the tempting V of his jeans.

"You want these off?" Kurt asked.

A strangled whine was answer enough, and Kurt hopped gracefully from the bed, and enjoyed watching Blaine watch him inch his tight jeans down his hips. They pooled at his feet, forgotten. Kurt hissed with relief, his erection was still confined within his briefs, but less painfully restricted.

"Oh... Kurt..."

Blaine was sat up now, hands torn between reaching out for Kurt and shedding himself of his own jeans.

"Take off your pants and you can touch me," Kurt said.

It was like he'd flipped a switch; Blaine scrambled out of his jeans. True to his word, Kurt allowed himself to be tugged flush against Blaine, once he was down to his white boxer briefs.

Kurt gasped into his lover's neck, enthralled by the boy who clung to Kurt's shoulders like an anchor, the minute rolls of his hips a maddening taster of what was to come.

Blaine was so hard already. Kurt could feel it, hot and heady, against his own erection. For a few minutes, Kurt reveled in their newfound closeness, allowed the teasing flicks of Blaine's tongue and the adoring kisses he pressed into Kurt's neck and shoulders to sink into his skin and penetrate the walls he'd failed miserably to hold around his heart.

"Kurt," Blaine whispered.

"Mmmm."

"You with me?"

Kurt kissed his shoulder and nuzzled their noses together. "Just kiss me."

Who was Blaine to deny him? He licked into Kurt's mouth with the enthusiasm of a man deprived too long. His hands were everywhere, guiding Kurt's cheek to deepen the kiss, tracing the contours of Kurt's back, knuckles soft and shiver-inducing where they grazed the length of his back. Kurt whimpered into Blaine's mouth when his hands slipped past the material of Kurt's briefs to knead the sensitive globes of his ass.

"Beautiful," Blaine panted against Kurt's mouth. "So beautiful." His forehead was already damp with perspiration. "I want you _so much_."

 _You have me_ , is what Kurt tried to say, but his hips aligned with Blaine's in just the right spot, turning it into a desperate cry.

"Lie down for me? I want to kiss you," Blaine said.

Blaine steered him by the hips to the edge of the bed, where Kurt lay back down, pulling Blaine with him. Before he could seal his lips with Blaine's though, he felt a calloused hand rest over his mouth. He kissed at the digits, eyes narrowed in frustration.

"Not here," Blaine explained. "I want to kiss you... here."

Kurt squeaked. Blaine's lips peppered across his chest, tooth catching his nipple.

"I want to kiss you _there_." Blaine licked a stripe over his ribcage, stopping only to peck at the spot Kurt's heart was hammering beneath. "I want to lick you here," Blaine continued, staring up at Kurt when his tongue dipped into his belly button.

Kurt giggled and squirmed. This was torture.

Blaine's hand was firm against Kurt's hip, pinning him to the mattress. "But most of all." His breath, warm and moist, seeped through the cotton of Kurt's briefs. "I want to kiss you all over..."

His nose nuzzled the wet spot and Kurt scrubbed up and down his own face, overwhelmed by what he knew was coming.

"Here."

Kurt keened. Blaine's mouth didn't just kiss the prominent bulge of Kurt's cock, he engulfed it. Lathed his tongue into his cotton briefs in search of the inebriating heat beneath. His mouth was so warm. So good. So wet. Kurt's eyes rolled in his pleasure, a sweltering wave of unbridled arousal flooding to his cock.

"Blaine," he whined.

"Wanted this for so long," Blaine said with a cheeky nip to Kurt's inner thigh.

Kurt shuddered. "Blaine, come here."

Blaine crawled up Kurt's body, tongue delving desperately into his mouth once he’d arrived. The friction was even better now his briefs were soaked through. Blood hammered in Kurt's ears, his mind was foggy, unable to comprehend anything but a need to get Blaine naked. Now!

"Lift up a bit for me, baby," Kurt murmured into Blaine's mouth.

He complied. Kurt's fingers snuck past the line of his boxer briefs, and he groaned. Blaine's cock fit perfectly in Kurt's hand, warm and heavy. Experimentally, he rubbed his thumb over the head, fascinated by the stuttered breaths and tortured crease deepening between Blaine's eyebrows.

"Can we take these off?" he asked.

"Mmph," was Blaine's reply.

"That a yes?"

"That's a _fuck yes_!" Blaine tipped onto his backside to pull his briefs off his legs, sliding Kurt's off too.

Where they landed was of little consequence to Kurt because... oh! There he was.

Blaine’s cock was, for lack of a better word with his brain in lustful standby, _gorgeous_. Swollen red at the tip and stood to attention against the dark thatch of hair beneath his belly button. Kurt swallowed weakly, fascinated by a droplet of pre-come pooling at the tip. It slid down the head.

He was magnificent.

Blaine slipped on top of him. Took Kurt's tongue back into his mouth, dipping his hips down and-

“OH!”

Kurt broke from the kiss and threw his head back. His nerves were already frayed at the edges, and Blaine’s plump cock against his own without barrier, was almost enough to trigger an explosion, like he'd stumbled over a trip wire.

Blaine took the opportunity to suck sultry, spine-tingling kisses into Kurt’s exposed throat, the wet glide of their erections torturous. 

"Please tell me we have lube?" Blaine choked out, after a particularly delicious thrust.

"Under the left pillow," Kurt breathed.

Lube and a packet of condoms were produced. Blaine raised an eyebrow.

"Was someone planning to seduce me?" he teased.

"Call me optimistic?"

Kurt watched Blaine open the brand new bottle through hooded eyes. He warmed the liquid between his fingers, and Kurt whined desperately when said fingers pumped that deep red cock and coated Kurt's longer, lean cock too.

It was so much better this time.

"I could just come from this," Kurt admitted breathlessly, rolling his hips to slip and slide with the body above him. Blaine groaned his agreement. Or perhaps the guttural sound was in response to Kurt's hand snaking to Blaine's ass to better guide his thrusts.

For a few minutes Kurt was happy to relax into the sheets, surrounded by a warm body and the intoxicating scent of cinnamon and sweaty boy that was fast becoming his personal aphrodisiac. But it wasn't enough. The current building inside him could not be sated. He pulled playfully at Blaine's tongue with his teeth.

"I want you inside," he whispered.

Blaine choked on air. "Yeah?"

"Please?"

Blaine traced Kurt's face seriously. "You sure? I know I'm safe. I haven't slept with anyone since my last check-up. How long has it been for you?"

"About a year," Kurt admitted, hiding his face behind his hands. With a bit of luck, Blaine mistook his reddened cheeks for an aroused flush. "I'm clean too."

Pecking at Kurt's lips sweetly, Blaine said, "I'll take it slow."

Blaine crawled the length of Kurt's body and gently eased his knees apart, kneading the flesh of Kurt's inner thighs to relax him. Kurt's eyelids fluttered to rest against his cheeks, so he didn't know what was about to happen until something, hot, wet, and soft dragged from his ball sack to his asshole.

Mouth falling open, Kurt's legs dropped pliantly wider. Blaine was kitten licking him, working Kurt into a state of excruciating frustration. His hands spread Kurt's cheeks for better access.

"Blaine... oh, you can't-" Kurt groaned loudly, Blaine's tongue penetrating through the ring. "Oh! Been too long. Can't hold!"

Blaine heeded his warning, extracting his tongue. Before he could breathe though, it was quickly replaced by Blaine's lubed index finger.

"Fuck!"

"Okay?" Blaine asked.

It was tight, the finger inching inside like a bee sting. Slowly, Kurt's breathing centered, helped him relax into the sensation, and his muscles loosened around Blaine's finger.

"Tell me when you're okay, lovely," Blaine soothed. His other hand massaged at the skin of Kurt's inner thigh.

"I'm okay." Kurt panted. "More."

Blaine took his time, watching Kurt's every reaction. His finger was followed by a second, and a third, until finally his little finger squeezed inside to join the rest.

Kurt was on another planet, barely hearing Blaine ask him to sit up. He coaxed Kurt into his lap. He leaned his forehead against Blaine's shoulder, watching Blaine roll a condom onto his own cock and spread lube down his length.

"Blaine?"

"When you're ready, lovely," Blaine whispered, and Kurt realized with a flood of affection, that Blaine wanted him to take control.

He loved him so much.

Breathe. Tongue between his teeth, Kurt lifted and, hand aligning the tip of Blaine's cock, eased himself down until Blaine was completely sheathed within.

Blaine's eyes squeezed shut. Air puffed sharply from his mouth. 

Kurt paused to adjust to the intrusion. Blaine's arms hooked under Kurt's armpits to grip at his shoulders, so Kurt wound his own around Blaine's neck.

"Kurt?" Blaine moaned.

"Shhh," Kurt cooed. "Just feel, baby."

Kurt set a slow, reverent pace, rocking his pelvis back and forth, determined to savor their first time together.

Something in the way Blaine held him, so gently, the flutter of his lashes against sweaty cheeks, told Kurt he had never experienced sex this way. Unhurried and languid. He stared up at Kurt hazily as though from another world. His eyes hooded, entranced by the man in his lap, lovingly tracing his cock inside the walls of his ass.

His head fell against Kurt's chest, a high pitched whine stuttering out of him. Pulling Kurt further into his lap, Kurt jolted in his arms when the change of angle caused the cock inside him to graze his prostate.

"So good," Kurt whispered into Blaine's hair. "You're just for me aren't you?"

Blaine whimpered, involuntarily thrust his hips up hard. "It's you. Only want you."

"You have me." Kurt hissed, teeth clenched.

Blaine nosed at the fading scar on Kurt's collarbone and sealed his lips over Kurt's clavicle. Kurt yowled; his throat had always been a weakness, hardwired to send scalding stimulation straight to his sopping wet cock.

Suddenly Blaine lifted Kurt clean off his lap. Kurt squeaked and wrapped his waist up tightly with his legs. The younger boy easily moved them up the bed to lay Kurt to the mattress, head on his pillows.

They kissed sloppily, the head of his cock a teasing, slow brush against Kurt’s prostate. Blaine transferred his ministrations to Kurt's defined jaw. Kurt's legs fell away from Blaine's hips with a blissful sigh, and smiled when Blaine instead guided his knees to hook over Blaine’s shoulders.

He gave his final order.

"Fuck me."

Blaine groaned his obedience. Arms hooked under Kurt's for leverage, his hips began a punishing rhythm.

"Oh, god!" Blaine gritted out.

Shock after shock of agonizing pleasure coursed through Kurt, led by Blaine's undulating pelvis. It was hypnotic, sweat dripping from Blaine's chest to Kurt's, heart thudding in his ears, the recurrent wet slap of Blaine's ball sack against his.

"Blaine, I- oh- fuck, you're so _good_ at this!" Kurt choked.

His cock was rock hard against his belly button. Kurt didn't know whether to palm himself, or squeeze at Blaine's round ass. He dragged his fingernails the length of Blaine's back instead, writhed beneath him.

All it took were three perfectly aimed thrusts from Blaine, for it to cease to matter though.

Kurt jolted and wailed at the ceiling. His arms dropped to the bed. Vision clouding over. Blaine’s fingers latched around his wrists and lifted his hands over his head, held against the pillows. All the while snap, snap, snapping his hips harder and harder into Kurt's prostate, until Kurt’s cries became nothing but huffs of breath forced from him on impact.

He couldn't take it anymore. The pressure coiling in his stomach burst, and when Blaine clumsily took ahold of Kurt's cock to pump in time with his hips, Kurt's eyes rolled and euphoria slammed through him. He blacked out, spurting thick ropes of cum across their stomachs.

… Slowly… he came back to the real world.

Blaine was nestled inside him still, entirely spent, having toppled over the edge too when Kurt's orgasm hit, wrung out by the clenching around his cock. His chin hooked over Kurt’s shoulder. The rise and fall of his chest against Kurt’s, shallower with every breath. Finally, just as Kurt was starting to notice the unpleasant, cooling mess on his stomach, Blaine brought his head back up to face Kurt with the most radiant smile.

“Hey,” Kurt whispered, giggling into Blaine’s playful kisses. “So that was…”

“Mmmm.”

“Was it worth the wait?”

“I’m still inside you, what do you think?” Blaine mumbled dazedly.

He inched his spent cock from within Kurt, who hissed from hypersensitivity and watched Blaine tie off the condom and drop it into the garbage can by the bed, before picking up a convenient flannel on the dresser and wiping their stomachs clean. Falling to lay beside Kurt, he curled his arm around his waist and nuzzled their noses together.

“Seriously…” Blaine’s eyelashes fluttered sleepily, “best night of my life.”

“Really? Even with everything else?” Kurt said doubtfully.

“I just discovered that the man I’m crazy about is not the baby penguin I was led to believe,” Blaine replied with a sly grin. “I’m going to be good for a long time after this.”

“I never said I was a baby penguin,” Kurt exclaimed, affronted. “Why does everyone assume not sleeping around makes you a massive virgin?”

“Okay, for one thing: I didn’t think you were a virgin. And two: There is nothing wrong with being one,” Blaine said. “As for the preferring monogamy thing, I’ve completely come round to your point of view.”

“Really?”

“I don’t want anyone else, Kurt,” Blaine said. “Not when I know it can feel like… what we just- I’ve never taken the time to just… to just…”

“Feel?” Kurt supplied.

“Yeah. When I was with-”

“Do not speak his name,” Kurt warned.

Blaine kissed Kurt’s nose, thumb grazing his hipbone to sooth him. “It was always about getting off. I didn’t know it could be so... you felt incredible.”

“Yeah. So did you.” Kurt kissed him thoroughly. “I’m kind of mad at myself for waiting so long.”

“You’re worth it,” Blaine whispered, and Kurt felt ridiculous, because after everything they just did, _that_ of all things left him red as a ripe tomato. “And now I’m going to stop you hiding that beautiful face from me, and pout pathetically until you agree to be the big spoon tonight.”

Folding his bottom lip down, Blaine cranked the wide puppy eyes up to the next level. Kurt pinched Blaine’s side.

“You are the dorkiest dork to ever dork. You know that?” Kurt chided.

Kurt hid his besotted smile in Blaine’s shoulder blade as he spooned up behind him. Eyelids drooping, fingers tangled together on the damp sheets in front of them, Kurt hummed blissfully.

Happiness wasn’t an emotion he often associated with himself. He was ready for that to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Christmas period is an extremely busy one in my family, so I am having to take a short hiatus from updating this story. It won't be for long, I assure you. If all goes to plan I will be back to my normal updating schedule in early January. Until then, I hope this chapter was enough to earn your forgiveness.
> 
> In the meantime, If you want to contact me more directly to ask for updates on my hiatus status, I am sarkyblueeyes on Tumblr as well. Message me whenever.


	26. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Thank you so much for bearing with me over my holiday hiatus. I'm so glad the last chapter was so well received. And Glee's back. Anyone enjoying the angst? I'm not. Don't like watching my boys hurt so senselessly.
> 
> Anyway, on we go!

The world was warm and soft. Kurt snuggled into his blankets with a drowsy sigh, entirely uninterested in working out why his nose was tickling. Not when he could cuddle up against the body entwined with his, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of the chest beneath his fingers.

Body? Kurt grazed the naked torso with his knuckles curiously. He inhaled. Cinnamon. A faint, earthy cologne.

Blaine.

Kurt smiled serenely and pressed his lips to the salty skin of the back of Blaine's neck.  Ah, it was his boyfriend's curly hair tickling his nose.

"Mmmm," Blaine mumbled when Kurt's teeth found his favorite spot behind his ear.

"You're still here," Kurt whispered.

The back pressed to his chest stiffened. "That's okay, right?" Blaine asked.

Kurt clutched him closer. "It's amazing. I just..." Feared last night was a wonderful dream and nothing more. "Can't believe this is real."

Turning in his arms, Blaine kissed him tenderly, morning breath be damned. Kurt sighed his bliss into Blaine’s mouth, pulse already spiking when calloused fingers dug into the flesh of his right ass cheek, pushing gently until they were flush at the hips.

Kurt chuffed in surprise. Blaine's cock was already hard, and his own was stirring in interest.

"It's real, gorgeous," he breathed into Kurt's mouth. “Or this is a cruelly realistic fantasy."

And then he made to prove just how real it was, kissing his way down Kurt’s chest until his head disappeared from sight beneath the covers. Unseen, a hot, wet tongue licked a stripe up the underside of Kurt’s cock.

"Shit." He fell back to his pillows.

Plump lips were suckling experimentally at the head, tongue flitting in and out of the slit so skillfully, Blaine had to wrap his arms under Kurt's thighs to keep his knees from clamping around Blaine’s head. Kurt’s chest heaved for breath, heart pumping so hard, he was dizzy with it. Resting his feet on Blaine's shoulders, he settled his arms blissfully above him, sank further into the mattress with every crafty swipe and languid flick of Blaine's talented tongue.

"Mmmm.” Kurt’s eyebrows knitted together. “Blaine, you're trying to kill me, right?"

He squeaked when Blaine’s response was to suck his ball sack wetly into his mouth.

"Oh, yeah..." Kurt swallowed. His hips rocked minutely. "Definitely trying to kill me."

Blaine nipped his inner thigh playfully. "Clearly it's not working if you're this coherent."

"Try harder then."

Something that sounded suspiciously like, "Alright, Mr. Bossy," was muffled beneath the comforter, and Kurt's cock was abruptly engulfed within Blaine's scalding mouth.

Kurt's back arched clean off the mattress. "Oh..." Eyes squeezed shut, hands scrabbling to grab at the wooden slats of the headboard. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit!"

Blaine hummed, pleased to have unraveled him so thoroughly in one sneaky act. The vibration sent Kurt's appreciative whine up an octave.

Kurt's cock hitting the back of his throat had choked Blaine the first couple of times, or at least, that's what is sounded like through the hazy cloud of arousal dulling all senses not focused on Blaine. He grew accustomed to Kurt's girth quickly, however, and it was with restraint Kurt didn't know he possessed, that he managed to not writhe and jerk in time with Blaine’s wet lips.

"Baby, I'm not gonna' last." Kurt mewled, using the headboard as leverage to pull himself up the mattress and away from Blaine's mouth.

He couldn’t tell if he wanted this to end quickly or last forever, but Blaine wasn't about to give him the choice. He hauled Kurt back down by the hips with a growl of disapproval.

"Stay."

This time, Kurt nearly swallowed his own tongue.

"Oh..." His toes dug into the golden skin of Blaine’s shoulders. "Kay!"

Blaine licked and sucked and nipped and teased, until Kurt couldn't take it anymore. His orgasm hit him like a pin pricking a balloon, and Kurt remembered too late that his roommates were probably home, arching off the bed to howl Blaine’s name at the ceiling. The back of his lover’s throat tightened and relaxed around him, swallowing every last drop of semen with a satisfied moan. Finally, sated and exhausted, Kurt collapsed with a groan, and only then did Blaine release his cock and emerge from beneath the covers.

“Kurt?” His eyes were blown wide, manic with undiluted, desperate lust.

Kurt tipped him onto his back and kneaded his soft inner thigh. "Blaine, what do you...?"

"Hand," Blaine exclaimed, eyebrows knitting together when Kurt shakily took ahold of his cock. "Nearly there. Fuck, you tasted good. Need you to-"

“Shhh, I got you.”

Blaine wasn't lying. Kurt had him spilling hotly over his hand in under a minute, mouth wide in a soundless cry.

Kissing and suckling his neck until his breathing levelled out, Kurt waited patiently for Blaine to pull himself from his daze. 

“Huh." He burrowed into the crook between Kurt’s neck and shoulder.

“Why does sex feel so much better in the morning?” Kurt said breathlessly. The euphoria of his own high had very much worn him out.

“You’re brain isn’t at full capacity. You don’t think,” Blaine replied, kissing Kurt's collarbone.

“Don’t use big words when I’ve come my brains out.”

“Big words?”

“Capacity?” Kurt repeated. “Who says that before 9am? Who says that before 9am _after_ sex?”

“A younger man with stamina?”

Kurt pinched his side. “Watch it. We’re only three and a half years apart. What time is it?"

"A little past six."

Urgh." Kurt groped at his bedside cabinet for his tablet and navigated into the email app. "Please cancel the morning meeting," Kurt whispered. "Please, Wes. Please, please- YES!"

"Is it cancelled?" Blaine yawned.

"It's been moved… huh. You’re not in the studio today." Kurt bit his lip.

Only something big would force Wes to cancel recording the album, with the deadline so close.

"This must be about the songs we wrote,” Blaine said quietly into Kurt’s neck. “I think I’m in trouble. Can we just not go? We can hole up here and ignore the world.”

Smile in his hair, Kurt snuggled closer. “You know we can’t do that, baby.”

“Baby…” Blaine repeated. “It’s weird, I hated it when Jeremiah called me that.”

“I can stop if it-”

“No, that’s the thing,” Blaine interrupted, gazing up at Kurt wonderingly. “I love it when you say it. It felt patronizing coming from Jeremiah. He always said it during arguments, like he was using our age gap against me. When you say it I feel… safe.”

Kurt peppered his forehead with kisses. “You are with me, baby. Always.”

“Can we lay in?"

"For a while, but then you're working out this penname thing."

"I am?"

"Yes, Blaine, you are." Kurt gave him a sharp look. "I think Wes freed up today to prepare for whatever battle you guys are in with the record company. The least you can do is figure this out ahead of time. Do you have a copy of your contract? I can get my stepmother's nephew to look at it. He owes me for recommending him to Isabelle Wright-"

"Vogue's Isabelle Wright?"

"She hired him years ago when Gucci tried to sue Vogue for ad misrepresentation on the website. He settled it out of court. I can ask him to look the contract over?"

"Kurt, don't involve yourself,” Blaine pleaded. “I kept you out of this for a reason.”

There was no chance of that happening, but Kurt sensed now was not the time to argue, so instead he said, “Let’s sleep for a couple of hours. You want me to be the big spoon?”

“Please.”

* * *

They roused a little past eight. Kurt had to distract himself from the very naked, wet boy in his shower singing a medley of Katy Perry songs, by calling Nick.

He was absolutely _not_ thinking about Blaine’s gorgeous olive skin, dripping wet and tempting to Kurt’s eager eyes and fingers. The fifteen minute make out he instigated when Blaine emerged in nothing but his towel, was a perfectly acceptable greeting for his boyfriend. So what if he lapped at a few droplets on Blaine’s shoulders? Nick was meeting them at a discreet coffee shop a few blocks over that morning. This was his reward.

His own shower was quick, not wanting to leave Blaine for long. Something that turned out to be a fruitless effort once he’d dressed and styled his hair, because suddenly a voice he’d rather not hear came to his attention.

Rachel was home. Rachel was awake. Rachel was alone with Blaine.

“Shit.”

Kurt found Blaine backed against the couch, dressed in a borrowed sweater, and jeans that were too long and scrunched cutely at his ankles. Rachel, black trench coat snug around her waist, was glaring up at him.

“… I don’t know what Kurt said, but it doesn’t give you the right to laugh at my-”

“What are you on about?” Blaine said incredulously. “Look, I’m sorry I laughed. I wasn’t trying to offend you!”

“Oh, sure!” she hissed.

Kurt approached, careful to not alert them to his presence.

“I thought you were joking!” Blaine spluttered. “I thought you were mocking me with a terrible impersonation-”

“ _Terrible impersonation_?”

“No, no, no!” Blaine waved his hands, eyes wide and panicked. “Bad wording. Sorry. I just meant that it could have been… better?”

Catching Kurt's eye behind Rachel, Blaine’s relief was evident in a helpless shrug he knew to be a silent plea for aid.

“What’s going on?” Kurt said.

“Hello, Kurt,” Rachel greeted coldly. “Your boyfriend was giving his _expert_ opinion on my acting." And with a dramatic twirl only Rachel could pull off, she exited the apartment.

Blaine tumbled over the back of the couch landing with a soft flump on the cushions. “Well, that went well,” he said flippantly. "I’ve had less frosty receptions from homophobic politicians.”

“What just happened?” Kurt asked.

Blaine's socked toes were awkwardly fidgeting in midair above the couch.

“She seemed okay with me at first,” Blaine began. “She was being... I think it was nice? I couldn't tell because her eyes were a little manic and she was talking a mile a minute."

"That's just her personality," Kurt dismissed.

"There's my little cynic," Blaine quipped. He reached for Kurt’s hand when he took a seat next to Blaine on the couch, played with his fingers. “She asked me to rate her English accent.”

Kurt's eyes rolled up to his skull. Of course she did.

“And… shit, I laughed, okay? I didn’t mean to, but it was just- I thought she was overdoing it on purpose. By the time I realized she was serious, she was already yelling. I tried to fix it by giving her some pointers, but-"

“-Oh, honey, no.” Kurt grimaced. “She can’t take criticism that isn’t disguised as proof of her talent.”

“I noticed.”

“On a scale of Claire Danes to Dick Van Dyke, how bad is the accent?”

“It’s…" Blaine's fingertips rubbed circles into Kurt's palm. "There are a lot of dialects in the UK, and she went from royalty to lass from Yorkshire in the space of a sentence. That’s why I thought it was a joke. Does she watch Downton Abbey?”

“Yes.”

“That explains it,” Blaine mused. “She sounded like Daisy the kitchen maid, before it morphed into an impression of Lady Mary Crawley. And she called me ‘guv’nor’, which is just…”

“No one talks like that?” Kurt guessed.

“Not outside Oliver Twist!” Blaine exclaimed. “And I’ve seen Matilda: The Musical. Miss Honey is a well-spoken, southern English character. The accent Rachel's doing isn't even close.”

“This role is going to be a train wreck for her, isn’t it?”

Sitting up, Blaine replied, "I think the train is already in motion, Kurt.”

"Oh, god!"

“She has a dialect coach, right?”

“Yes, but he probably says one thing and she hears another.” Kurt scowled at the floor. “She takes over the role in two weeks. If she’s not good now, she won’t be ready by curtain call. She’ll get bad reviews and it’ll be _me_ picking her back up from that, like I've done every day since we were seventeen. Like I did after That's So Rachel tanked.”

"That's So- what?"

"A few years ago she landed the lead in the Broadway revival of Funny Girl," Kurt explained. "Only, she left two months in to star in this ridiculous TV show in LA."

"What kind of idiot leaves their Broadway debut for a TV pilot, two months in?"

"Rachel," Kurt deadpanned. "I still don't know what she was thinking. Funny Girl was her dream, and she threw it away for a TV show that didn't make it to episode five."

“Okay, this Matilda thing probably won't be _that_ humiliating,” Blaine reasoned. “I can tell she’s doing the accent wrong, because I’m English. It’s like when Jeff and Trent imitate you, and you threaten to gouge your ears off.”

“Jeff and Trent don’t play Americans on Broadway!” Kurt cried, jumping up. He needed to pace.

“She’s not going to be Miss Honey on the West End,” Blaine argued. “And thank god for that; the London audience would crucify her. She’ll mostly be performing for Americans. Chances are, they won’t know the difference.”

“Hmmm.” Kurt wasn’t convinced. “I think you’re underestimating our theatre community. She’s working with _kids_ who have the accent down. She’ll be a laughing stock!”

“She just needs to make sure any slips won’t be noticeable to the untrained ear,” Blaine explained. “Someone has to be blunt with her to do that, Kurt.”

"And you thought that person was you?"

"Why not? I _am_ English."

“I thought you wanted her to like you?”

“Tough love?”

“Telling her she sucks will make her hate you.”

“She already does!" Blaine exclaimed, following him out into the kitchen.

“Suck, or hate you?”

"Both. Kurt, what difference will it make? If she can’t take criticism, what the hell is she doing in the performing arts? Do you know how much negativity me and the boys get from music elitists? Tons! She’s got to suck it up, get used to it, and accept the constructive criticism for what it is.”

Kurt sighed tiredly, allowed himself to be wrapped back up in Blaine’s arms. “Okay. I’ll go see her and try. But Blaine, you don't have to help her. You don't owe her anything."

"Kurt, I wouldn’t do it for _her._ It sounds like a terrible review would do her ego the world of good, if it's as bad as you say.”

“Then why are you?” Kurt moved a coil of dark hair from Blaine’s eyes.

“Because I know what you're like,” Blaine said. “Watching somebody you love fail isn't something you can do. Not if you can fix it. This is one thing I can fix _for_ you. Let me. And who knows, if I get through to her, she might call a truce and give me a chance."

“Okay.” A peck to Blaine's lips. "Okay, you're right."

“We ready to go?”

“Let me grab my bag.” Kurt scrunched his nose cutely when Blaine kissed his forehead, and hurried to his bedroom.

The pipes were groaning again. Santana was taking her shower. He snatched up his satchel, tablet, keys and phone, smiling as Santana’s raspy vocals filled the apartment.

 _“They tried to make me go to_ rehab _, but I said "No, no, no!_

_Yes I been black, but when I come back, you'll know, know, know.”_

“Okay, I’m ready,” Kurt called. Blaine was by the front door, head cocked to the side. “Quick, while Santana’s distracted. Nick’s meeting us at the Coco Bean Café for 10.30.”

“Yeah,” Blaine replied distantly. “She has a nice voice.”

“Santana? Yeah, she’s amazing. Come on, we’ll be late.”

* * *

Nick was stood waiting for them by the front door when Kurt and Blaine arrived at the Coco Bean Cafe. Except, he wasn’t alone.

“What’s Wes doing here?” Blaine hissed, pulling Kurt into the alley alongside the building. “I thought you said it was just Nick?”

“I did,” Kurt insisted. “He must have invited Wes.”

“What do I do?” Blaine groaned. “I’ve been ignoring Wes’ calls since last night.”

“Get it over with, I guess,” Kurt said. “Like ripping a band aid off.”

“A what?”

“… A bandage?”

“Oh, a plaster,” Blaine translated aloud. “Gotcha.”

“ _Band aid_ sounds better,” Kurt grumbled.

“If you guys are done discussing the correct uses of terminology, I’d like to get this over with.”

Kurt and Blaine whipped round to find Wes stood at the entrance to the alley, entirely out of place in his pristine black suit, next to the overflowing dumpsters.

“Look, Wes, I’m sorry I lied about the songs, but…”

“I know, I’ve had the same spiel from Nick,” Wes cut in. “I understand why you did it.”

“You- you do?”

“Of course I do.” Wes’ eyes rolled behind his spectacles. “You want credit for the work you put in. I’m annoyed with you for submitting the songs behind my back, not for _doing_ it.”

Blaine exchanged wary glances with Kurt.

Wes seemed to sense their uncertainty because he sighed, gesturing to the street behind him. “Look, I've got a car waiting. Nick is already inside, if you'll come with us?”

“Why?”

"Because we need to talk privately." Wes turned to Kurt. "Is there anywhere you need to be? We can drop you off."

"Oh... actually, yes, please."

"Wait, you’re not staying?” Blaine pulled Kurt further into the alley.

“I need to talk to Rachel,” Kurt explained.

“Wes, whatever you have to say, you can say in front of Kurt," Blaine called out stubbornly.

The New Yorkers in the street beyond the alley were disinterested in the three, so Kurt spared their manager a wary glance and kissed Blaine, slow and reassuring. Wes was looking pointedly at his phone when they parted.

“Hear him out,” Kurt whispered against his lips. “You can tell me after.”

Blaine chewed the inside of his cheek, kissed Kurt again in resignation, and the pair joined Nick in the back of the car Wes pointed out, but not before Wes held Kurt by the shoulder.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he said. "He just gets a little… distracted with you.”

Kurt could have sworn Wes winked. A trick of light, surely?

* * *

The Shubert Theatre was easy to spot on West 44th Street, thanks to the enormous blue banner spread above the front door that read: ‘Matilda’. The security guy at the back entrance recognized Kurt from another visit, so he was allowed into the building, assuring everyone he would be quiet until the director declared lunch.

“What do you want, Kurt?” Rachel demanded when she found him in the stalls after noon.

“We need to talk.”

She looked him over suspiciously and gestured for him to follow her backstage.

“I thought you were working?” she small-talked. “Or do you have the day off to fuck your boyfriend loudly and disturb your roommates?”

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut. “Sorry. This morning just sort of… happened.”

“I don’t need details. The sound is forever branded in my memory.” She shuddered dramatically and stood back for him to enter her dressing room ahead of her.

“I’m not giving you the de- Rachel, can we talk like adults, please?”

“Okay.” The door closed with a snap. She leaned back on it, arms folded across her chest. “Talk.”

“You’re projecting your trust issues onto my relationship,” Kurt said bluntly.

Her lashes fluttered, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“When you dated Jesse St. James in high school, he was feeding information back to Vocal Adrenaline to sabotage the glee club. When he fessed up, he cracked an egg over your head and broke your heart.”

“What has that got to-”

“-After graduation, you thought Finn was taking you to the registry office to get married. He took you to the train station instead. Sent you to New York without him. Our first year of college, you rebounded hard with Brody to get over my brother, and Santana and I found out he was working as a male escort behind your back.”

“Kurt, why are you reciting my dating history?”

“Because I think I know what you're problem is with Blaine,” Kurt explained. "You've been misled by every guy you ever cared for. And I think those experiences affect you more than you let on. So now you’re projecting your opinions of men onto my relationship with Blaine.”

“That’s not true,” Rachel spluttered.

“It isn’t?”

“No, I- he- just- he’s not right for you!”

“That’s not for you to decide.” Kurt sat on the wooden chair before her vanity. The mirror fixed to the wall was bordered with photographs of Rachel’s idols, family and friends. “I appreciate that you’re trying to look out for me, but I need you to understand...”

“I don’t trust him, Kurt,” she said tremulously. “Maybe the press don’t tell the truth about him. That doesn’t mean his reputation has been fabricated from thin air. There’s truth to it. I think you’re so blinded by his charm, you’re not thinking with your brain.”

Kurt laughed, a short incredulous burst. “You think I haven’t thought this over? Rachel… I’ve done nothing _but_ think about it from the moment I met him. I’ve had _too much_ time to go over the pros and cons. Too much time to second guess his actions. But I just _can’t_ do that anymore. I can’t keep pretending I don’t want him.”

Rachel’s eyes were glassy. Her chin was trembling, and it made a lump lodge itself in his throat.

“I think he could be it for me, Rach,” he choked. “And I… I would never forgive myself if I didn’t give us a shot.”

“But what about all the other guys you were warned about?” Rachel argued weakly.

“Blaine’s been honest about that,” Kurt said, worrying his lip between his teeth. “I don’t like it. He’s slept with so many employees, he can’t give me an exact figure.”

Rachel scoffed at the ceiling and slid to the floor, chin on her knees.

“I know it sounds bad,” Kurt admitted. “But I need you to trust my judgment on this. The Blaine I’ve known for the last eight months is not who the media thinks he is. A lot of it is exaggerated. His life is so public, he’s been forced to live his mistakes in front of everyone. But he’s really this fragile, kind, beautiful idiot, who loves singing and wants somebody to love him.”

Rachel swallowed thickly and watched her hands wring in her lap.

“I can think of someone who knows a little something about that," Kurt mused. "I mean, if you think about it, everything I just said, 'That’s So Rachel'.”

“Kurt!” Rachel whined, throwing a shoe at him and burying her smile in her knees when he caught it easily, and twirled the rim around his index finger. “I missed you this last week. I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it to come out like... I just- I don’t want to lose you.”

“Why would you lose me?” Kurt folded himself onto the floor with her.

“Because you have _him_ now.” She wiped her nose on her knuckle. “You’re not gonna’ come back to New York, Kurt. Not permanently.”

“What are you talking about? New York’s my home, and I could never leave the States forever. My dad’s here.”

“See, this is why I think you haven’t thought this through,” Rachel argued. “Let’s say that I’m wrong about everything. That you and Blaine are soulmates. You’re gonna’ go wherever _he_ is, and that place is London. You’re never here since you got that job. And now you have a boyfriend who lives and works there… you’re not coming back.”

“You don’t know that,” Kurt argued weakly.

“You’re probably right about me having trust issues,” she continued. “I thought Finn and I were forever. I thought Brody was an adventure for the ‘New Rachel’. And Jesse was just… stupid. But the truth is I’m jealous of Blaine. I love you, Kurt. You’re my best friend, and he’s taking you away. I can't help... projecting that feeling onto him.”

“Rach…”

“I know, I know, I’m a terrible friend!” She moaned into her hands.

“When you left New York to shoot your TV pilot, did we stop being friends?” Kurt asked.

“No?”

“So why would it be any different because it’s me leaving this time?”

“I- I don’t know. I just...”

“Look, for now Blaine needs to be in London with the band,” he noted. “But it’s not forever. I could get a job in New York and Blaine would have to follow me here. Nothing is set in stone. Wes wants me to be the assistant stylist someday soon, so I’ll probably need a permanent home in London. But I’m not gonna’ blindly follow my boyfriend. And he won’t blindly follow _me_. We’ll figure out where we need to be and compromise. That’s how relationships work. You’re not getting rid of me yet, Berry.”

“…Okay.” Rachel scrambled to her knees and latched herself to Kurt, who gripped her just as tightly, relieved to have ended the stalemate. “I’m sorry I was so horrible… and Blaine, I-”

“We need to talk about what happened with Blaine this morning,” Kurt chided.

“My accent’s terrible,” Rachel said. “I know.”

“Oh.” That was easy.

Rachel found her phone, swiped a few times, and held it up for Kurt to hear.

 _“Headmistress, he’ll be sick!”_ Rachel said from the speakers.

Kurt had to pinch his cheeks to contain a smirk. Her accent truly was horrible; a bizarre hybrid of English and American. How had he not realized?

“I was venting to my dialect coach about Blaine, and one of the Bruce Bogtrotters overheard and did an impersonation of me,” Rachel said bitterly. “I thought he was being a brat until I recorded this.”

“Blaine’s offered to help, you know,” Kurt said casually.

“I have a professional coach.”

“Which is working out _so_ _well_.” Kurt’s words dripped with sarcasm. “Please? He feels bad for insulting you, and… I really want my best friend and my boyfriend to get along.”

_“Good morning, children! My name is Miss Honey. And today is a very special day: Your first day of school!”_

“Urgh… okay, fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thank you to my beta, Fiona, for pulling me up on narrative pacing. A story teller should be the tortoise and not the hare. I needed reminding of that.


	27. The Noble and Tactless House of Warbler

The next few days seemed to be business as usual. The Warblers were being kept later and later in the studio, re-writing, re-recording, and whispering to one another in hushed tones over the songs Nick and Blaine had written.

Blaine hadn’t brought up his meeting with Nick and Wes, and Kurt hadn’t asked about it. He caught snippets of information, phrases like ‘hold to ransom’, ‘contractual obligation’, and ‘creative integrity’ thrown out there in heated debate. And Wes storming out of the Canary Records’ third floor conference room after a meeting between he and the board of directors, gave Kurt an idea that proceedings weren’t going the boys’ way.

All he could do was contact Carole’s nephew, gain his assurance he would help the band prepare for a fight with their record company, and hand his details to Wes.

Whatever happened next would reveal itself in due course.

“You brought our fan mail here?” Blaine asked at lunchtime, three days before they were due to depart back to the UK.

Kurt was sat before an enormous box he'd dragged to the studio from Canary Records to sift through.

“My work goes wherever you guys are, in case you need me for something,” Kurt said absently, slitting an envelope open and scanning the contents. “By the way, I’ve got five house viewings booked for you next week.”

“Right." Blaine blinked his surprise. "I'm selling my house. I forgot about that.”

“I figured,” Kurt said, with a teasing light in his eyes. “Luckily you’ve got a super organized boyfriend/assistant who keeps tabs on these things.”

Blaine chuckled. “Thank you. You not coming to lunch?”

Kurt shook his head. “I’ll eat later. The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can meet Mercedes, and go home. She and Jan are picking out clothes for the US leg of the press tour, and she wants me to observe their meetings with designers.”

“Is it going to be a late one tonight, then?”

“Not too late. You can stay over,” Kurt answered slyly. Blaine had stayed over at the loft the past three nights. “We’ll have to be quiet though. Santana has the morning shift.”

“Actually, I need to run something by you," Blaine said, pulling up a chair and seating himself beside Kurt at the table. “About Santana.”

"Sounds ominous…"

"No, it’s nothing bad. It’s just… she has a really nice voice. Kind of raspy," he began.

"She was singing in the shower again, huh?"

"Yes.” Fingers drummed on the table. “Is it weird that I haven’t officially met the woman, but I’m acquainted with her shower habits?”

“Not when you’ve known her as long as I have.” The pile of envelopes closest to him started to tip. Kurt lunged forward to save it.

“Anyway, I kind of..." Blaine looked at his hands awkwardly. Kurt paused in wrapping an elastic band around the rogue bundle to study him. "I recorded her singing and sent it to Wes."

Kurt gasped. "In the shower?"

"He's still looking for a girl to come in on our EP,” Blaine hurried to explain. “She was singing Girl On Fire by Alicia Keys and it sounded incredible, so I figured it couldn't hurt to see what he thought of her."

"That's so creepy," Kurt breathed incredulously. "She was in the shower. Did she know you were recording her?"

"... No?"

"BLAINE!"

"Okay, its creepy now I think about it, but what was I supposed to do?” Blaine argued. “I haven’t been formerly introduced to her. We keep leaving before that can happen. And I can’t just call out ‘hey, nice to meet you. Can you sing for me?’ She would think you’re dating a nutcase.”

“I am dating a nutcase.”

“And I didn't want him to say no and-"

"-Release the Kraken?"

"Disappoint her," Blaine corrected with an eye roll.

Kurt busied himself with another bundle. "He said no?" he asked casually.

"Actually, I played it for him earlier. He wants to meet her."

The envelopes dropped from his hands and scattered across the table. "He- oh my god, really?"

"Yes.” Blaine fondly watched him jump out of his seat and bob up and down. “He wants to hear her sing True Enough For You while we're here in New York, and if he likes what she does, and she’s interested, he’ll organize for Sam to guide her through recording her part in the studio."

"Oh my god. Oh my god!” Kurt squealed. He abandoned the fan mail entirely, in favor of scooping up his tablet and searching the internet for videos of Santana singing. “I need to find a recording so she never finds out you were stalking her.”

“I didn’t stalk her!”

“If she asks I gave you a sample,” Kurt ignored him. “What is it with my friends and shower voyeurism?”

Blaine blinked at him. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

“I mean, you could have YouTubed her. I’m sure there’s more than one recording there from show choir."

“The Pamela Lansbury videos are better quality,” Blaine said helpfully.

Kurt looked up at that. “You found my old cover band?”

“Guilty.”

“Creep.”

“I’d never heard you sing,” Blaine insisted defensively, pouting at Kurt until he rolled his eyes and seated himself in Blaine’s lap. “I was curious to hear this amazing talent Broadway had passed up. Your version of As If We Never Said Goodbye was stunning, by the way.”

Arms winding their way round his neck, Kurt ducked his head bashfully. “… Thank you. I- don’t really sing anymore. Since Broadway didn’t work out, it’s just… painful.”

“You’re gonna’ get there one day, you know,” Blaine predicted. “And, you know, say the word and we can bypass Santana altogether, and hire you instead?”

Kurt rested their foreheads together fondly. “No. They want a girl. My voice is high, but I don’t pass as a girl.”

“I wasn’t suggesting we pretend you’re female,” Blaine said.

Kurt shook his head. “I’m not using you like that, Blaine. No one would ever take me seriously. And no matter what the world inevitably says about me, I could never forgive myself if I used you to get famous.”

“Alright, fine, I won’t try and push singing on you.”

“Thank you.”

Their kisses were slow and deliberate, cheeks flushed, eyes closed, impossible to keep them open when the all-consuming pleasure of one another took hold. It was scary how easily Kurt forgot himself where Blaine was concerned. Forget where he was, his last train of thought, even his own name when there were more pressing matters at hand, like the feel of warm, kissable, and plump lips against his own. He smiled into little pecks when Blaine whined his disapproval of Kurt pulling back.

“For the record,” he said, gasping when Blaine’s teeth grazed the line of his jaw, “you don’t have to… bribe my friends with career help to get them to- to-” He nipped Blaine’s bottom lip in retaliation when he cut him off. “- to like you.”

Blaine froze mid kiss.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Kurt mumbled, and swooped back in before Blaine could try and deny or explain.

He was just as talented in making Blaine forget his own name.

* * *

That’s how they were found half an hour later, Kurt perched in Blaine’s lap, fingers tipping Blaine’s chin up to better kiss him.

“Okay, is no one going to ask about the elephant in the room?” Jeff said.

Kurt flew back from Blaine so far, he would have tumbled to the floor if Blaine’s arms weren’t there to steady him. Nick, Jeff, Trent, David, Quinn, Sam, Puck and Wes filed into the room carrying paper bags full of food from the caterers downstairs.

Kurt’s cheeks burned, hyperaware of the teasing he knew to be held back behind the smirks all around them. Wes had specified a day earlier that lunch time counted as ‘free time’ they were allowed to act like a couple, but it didn’t make it any less embarrassing to be caught.

“Hi guys. Lunch over?” Blaine said easily.

“You guys didn’t come down, so we thought we’d bring lunch to you,” Quinn said sheepishly, handing over two full bags of lunchtime nibbles.

Kurt mumbled a thank you.

“Oh, come on!” Jeff exclaimed. “Kurt and Blaine are all over each other, and I’m supposed to just shrug and not ask questions?”

“Is there really anything to ask?” Blaine raised a sardonic eyebrow at him. “Do you need me to draw you a diagram?”

“Nah, draw me a map, Anderson, because last I knew you were whining to anyone who’d listen about Kurt’s contract, and mentally undressing him. Why has Wes not ripped you a new arsehole for breaking it?” Jeff demanded.

“Because I had the clause erased from his contract,” Wes said stiffly.

“Why?

“Does it matter?” Nick said with a roll of the eyes. “Christ, we all know what Jeff wants to know, so how about we go down the rabbit hole already?”

Kurt looked around him warily. “What?”

“Are you guys…?” Nick gestured between them with a questioning tilt of the head.

“In a relationship,” Blaine answered. His fingers rubbed circles into the back of Kurt’s neck to soothe the tension creeping into his shoulders.

“YES!” Jeff, Nick, Trent and David hollered.

Kurt nearly jumped out of his skin, entirely unused to attention focused on his private life. It was weird and embarrassing and he hid an incredulous smile in Blaine’s neck. Away from Puck's knowing smirk, Sam fist bumping Blaine, and Wes' amused focus on his own lunch.

“Nice one.”

“About time!”

“Cheers, Kurt, you’ve saved us a lifetime of earache.”

“So, you guys have, uh…” Jeff waggled his eyebrows.

The flood of color to Kurt’s cheeks must have been answer enough, because the four of them reacted at once. Trent hollered at the ceiling, David punched Blaine in the shoulder, Nick fell to his knees and despaired at the floor, and Jeff jumped onto the table and yelled;

“Pay up, bitches! I told you. Eight months.”

And just like that the smile was gone. Kurt looked around, confused.

“I was so sure it would be Christmas!” Nick whined.

“At least you still had hope,” Trent laughed. “I lost three months ago.”

Kurt sucked in a sharp breath. Did he hear that right? They’d bet on how long it would take him to sleep with Blaine? The furious pound of his heart could surely be heard by the whole of New York.

“Kurt, you okay?” Quinn touched his shoulder hesitantly.

Kurt nodded, throat tight, head ducked away from Blaine’s line of vision. But his boyfriend knew him better, it seemed. His palm guided Kurt’s cheek to see him better. His concerned, wide eyes were blurry through the tears in Kurt’s own. His chin trembled, the first drop fell like cold clarity to his inflamed cheek, and Blaine’s jaw set, eyes ablaze.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up!” he growled.

Jeff’s grin slipped like water through a colander, the silence in the room suddenly stifling.

Kurt cleared his throat, tried to hide his reaction from all the eyes on him.

“You placed bets on how long it would take Blaine to fuck me?” Kurt said numbly. “You…” He squeezed his eyes shut, forced his lips to lift into a smile so heavy, only an idiot would think it passed as one. “That’s… awesome. I’m glad my personal life is amusing.”

“What? Kurt, we’re no-” Trent began.

“No of course not,” Kurt interrupted shakily. “It’s just friendly banter. I get it. Listen, I’m going to, uh…” He cleared his throat. “Use the restroom. Make sure you pay Jeff.”

The look Jeff gave Kurt as he jumped off the table, wasn’t dissimilar to a person assessing whether or not an escaped snake was venomous.

“I mean, he won fair and square, right? I’ll be-” Kurt wiped at his cheek surreptitiously, lifting out of Blaine’s lap. “I’ll just be in the restroom. I forgot to wash my hands.”

“Kurt?” Blaine’s grip was tight on his arm. “I swear I didn’t-”

“- I just need a minute,” Kurt whispered into his forehead, and walked primly out of the studio and into the corridor.

Stupid. He was so stupid. Rachel was right; he was just a joke to them.

“Are you guys fucking kidding me, right now?” he heard Blaine hiss to a round of shushing.

Kurt paused a few paces from the studio door he’d left open. Tears were running freely now no one was there to witness.

“Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to prove he can trust me?”

“We didn’t think he’d react like that,” Nick spluttered.

“Yeah, I thought he had a sense of humor,” Jeff agreed. “He’s usually pretty cool.”

“You guys are so stupid,” Quinn said. “What the hell were you guys thinking mocking him like that here? At work?"

“Actually I’d like to know the answer to that,” Wes agreed.

“We weren’t mocking him,” Kurt heard David say. “It was harmless.”

“So harmless he fled the room!”

“Blaine, you would have done the same if it were one of us,” Jeff argued. “He slapped you so hard with that rejection his first day, I thought you’d be bruised for life. But then you started falling arse over tit trying to impress him, and we figured, hey, let’s make it interesting.”

“It doesn’t matter if you weren’t mocking him, because that’s how he’s taken it,” Blaine spat. “God, you have no idea what you've done. His best friend thinks I’m playing him.”

There was a titter of confusion from the studio. Kurt crept to the door, careful to remain out of sight.

“Kurt warned me she didn’t have a high opinion of me,” Blaine explained. “But she actually told me to my face, that she thinks I’m an untrustworthy prick who wants to fuck and chuck her best friend.”

Kurt’s jaw dropped. Clearly he’d missed more of their exchange than he thought.

“He’s going to think she was right, and I was in on this!”

“Blaine, we didn’t- it’s not Kurt,” Trent stammered. “We’ve been betting on you getting laid for years.”

“And that’s better how?” Blaine lowered his voice when he was shushed again. Kurt leaned closer, straining to hear him. “That just tells me you think he’s as worthless to me as a one night stand.”

“He’s not?” Nick asked.

“No!” Blaine burst. “Fuck, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me!”  
  
“Shit… you’re really not just screwing him,” Jeff said wonderingly.

“No. And I’m not fucking proud of who I was becoming when he walked into my life,” Blaine continued.

Kurt slid to the floor, stared unseeingly at the wall ahead of him. They’d barely been together a full day, and he’d allowed himself to doubt Blaine at the first hurdle, like the pure beauty of their first night together was nothing in the face of the mockery the outside world supplied.

How was he going to face the cruel media and general public, if their friends playing a stupid game at their expense was enough to make him doubt?

“I’d really like to leave that guy in the past, and give myself the chance to be happy.”

Blaine’s voice was getting louder, and Kurt jumped when he stormed out into the corridor and shut the door with more force then necessary. They stared at one another dumbly for a few seconds.

“You’re not in the toilet,” Blaine said dumbly.

A beat of silence. “Well, no, I’ve never climbed into a toilet before.”

The joke was lame and Kurt knew it, but Blaine still chuckled, chin dipping to his chest.

“I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t know they’d done that,” he said.

“I know.” Kurt jumped to his feet, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I heard you. I’m sorry I reacted like that. I didn’t mean to- I don’t think you knew. I’m sorry I made you feel like I-”

“-No, no, I should have realized they’d take the mickey out of me. I really have been embarrassingly pathetic the last few months,” Blaine said sheepishly.

“Blaine, why didn’t you tell me Rachel laid into you?”

“Damn. You heard the entire thing?”

Sighing, Kurt reached for his boyfriend’s fingers and led him to the stairwell up to the roof of the building. The roof garden was a welcome respite for the studio employees and guests, a burst of color in an otherwise grey New York City. Moss and weeds grew between the full blooms in the potted plants scattered decoratively throughout, taking advantage of the last weeks of summer before fall swept them away.

Kurt pulled him around to face him. “Talk to me.”

“She really was nice for the first minute,” Blaine hedged. “It just took a… turn. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t warned me about. And I didn’t want to make it harder for you to make up with her.”

“Blaine, you don’t have to try so hard to win over my friends,” Kurt said. “Suggesting Santana for the EP, helping Rachel with her accent… you’ll be taking them on vacation to Hawaii next.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Blaine scoffed. “I’d take you to the Bahamas or Paris, if anything. And as for your friends, I’m doing the bare minimum here, but I do intend to win them over like the crooning charmer I am.”

“The arrogance is strong in this one,” Kurt deadpanned, and shrieked when Blaine lifted him off his feet and spun him once, twice, three times, using Kurt’s disorientation to slip his tongue slyly into his mouth. They stayed like that for several minutes, the sun warm on their faces, until Blaine mumbled against his lips;

“We’ve got an audience.”

Kurt turned just in time for the congregation peering through the studio door, to check imaginary watches, pretend to point at the paintwork on the walls, and scuttle to freedom. Kurt rolled his eyes wearily.

Their friends were tactless, nosey idiots, but they were their tactless, nosey idiots.

“Fifty dollars says it was Puck who told them where we are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to my schedule at the moment, I need to update this fic once a week now instead of twice like before. I hope that's okay. As ever thanks for reviewing, and giving kudos to this story. I can't quite believe how good a response I've had.


	28. The Tides of Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I'm sorry this is over a week late. Writers block hit at the wrong moment. A huge thank you to AncientGleek who took the drabbles I had for this chapter and helped me turn them into something readable over the last week. Not to mention correcting all my Britishisms. Thanks for the laughs during the process, Buttercup. A big thanks also to my regular beta and cheerleader, Fiona.

"This will end badly." 

"No, it won't."

"It's a waste of time. They're gonna reject me the moment they see me."

"No, they won't."

"I've booked five commercials since I moved to New York, Kurt. That's it!"

"And now you're going to sing on a popular boyband's EP."

Santana tossed her sheet of black hair over her shoulder and dug her nails into the leather of the back seat. Kurt sighed wearily. The sleek car Quinn sent to pick the pair up from the loft that morning was doing nothing to calm his roommate’s nerves. And they only had 25 minutes to get through the morning rush for her meeting with Wes.

“You don't know that for sure," Santana snipped. "I feel like there's a rattlesnake in my stomach. This better come to something, because I switched shifts with Hemorrhoid Harriet at the last minute. You know what that means? The night shift with _Randy_."

"The guy who thinks lesbianism is a myth?"

"He thinks his dick is the magic cure I need to straighten out. Which is funny, 'cause Snix is considering throwing the magic dick in her cauldron, for all my ex-lesbian lovers to dance around, and cleanse his misogynistic aura, for the good of all vaginas.”

Kurt flinched at the thought, unconsciously readjusting to shield his nether regions from her with his thigh. Even their driver cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“They like your voice,” Kurt said, when the traffic light turned green, and their car proceeded through the intersection. “The only thing that’s going to ruin this is your personality. So stop snarling, don’t call me 'lady lips' or anything other than 'Kurt' or 'Hummel' in front of my boss, and don’t insult anyone in there.”

“I can’t help it," Santana replied. "I’m shitting myself here. I channel it through rage.”

“You have nothing to be nervous about.”

“Fuck off, Hummel. It’s the biggest audition of my life," Santana snapped. "When I said tell me if they need a backup singer, I didn’t think you’d actually deliver! And I meant for gigs, not a whole EP! Seriously, is your gag reflex nonexistent?”

“Santana!” Kurt squawked

“What? You brainwashed Anderson into this, right? Was there subliminal messaging after he'd come his brains out?”

"Oh my god!" Kurt moaned into his hands. "Don't talk like this when you’re with my boss."

"Oh, _now_ you're gonna be coy? Try it when I'm sleeping, butt boy. There's only so much 'Oh Blaine! So good, Blaine! Fuck, right there, Blaine!' I can take before I wanna drop an anvil on you. You haven’t even officially introduced me to him, and I already know he sings higher in bed than in concert."

"We're here," Kurt called out, relieved when the car pulled over to the sidewalk outside Canary Records.

His ears burned with embarrassment; he could feel the amused twinkle of the driver’s eyes on him through the rearview mirror. Santana whistled, peering up at the skyscraper through her tinted window. 

"Blaine's meeting us up there; so be nice," Kurt warned, scooting out and thanking the driver.

"Yeah, yeah, be nice to the hand that fucks you," Santana said drolly.

"The expression is 'feeds you'," Kurt said sharply, leading her into the building and over to the elevator.

"Yeah, but I know you wouldn't let Frodo touch your stupidly expensive cookware; so that's a shitty example—unless he’s taking you to four-star restaurants. Hey!"

Kurt stepped into the empty elevator, pulling Santana behind him and effectively (he hoped) cutting off her tirade; he pressed the button for the third floor. There was a significant chance she was going to get him fired by association before the day was up.

The doors to the third floor slid open to reveal Blaine beaming at them from the opposite wall.

“Hi,” Blaine called, moving to kiss Kurt on the lips. He remembered where they were at the last moment though and awkwardly transferred it to Kurt’s cheek. “You’re just in time. Wes, Sam, and the boys are already inside. We’re just waiting for Mr. Smythe to arrive.”

“Smythe?” Santana repeated dumbly.

“No one said anything about the CEO being here,” Kurt whispered in alarm. “I thought it was just you guys?”

“It was, but he flew in this morning. We’ve had so many problems finishing this record, he’s insisting on approving our choice for collaboration,” Blaine said sheepishly. “We found out five minutes ago.”

Santana was pale, eyes darting between them, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Oh, sorry, where are my manners,” Blaine said, oblivious to her distress. He held his hand out. “I’m Blaine. Kurt’s told me a lot about you—”

“—I’m gonna be sick,” Santana spluttered.

“Oh! I…”

“Shit!” Kurt guided Blaine’s arm back to his side and blocked Santana’s view of him, tightly clasping both her hands. “Santana, breathe. You’re fine. Deep breaths. Come on. Mr. Smythe isn’t so bad.”

“You’ve met him?” she wheezed.

“Well…no?”

“But I have, and he’s nice; I promise,” Blaine interjected hastily. “He just wants to make sure we’re picking the right person.”

“And seven out of eight of the people in there are my friends,” Kurt added. “They’re good people. And you know Blaine now. You’ll be great. Just breathe for me,” he repeated with as much conviction as he could summon.

She sank against the wall, breath after deep breath taken in through her nose. Kurt was at a loss. In all his years of knowing her, Santana had always been abrasive, offensive and confident in her ability to command a room and leave its inhabitants terrified. Never had he seen behind her carefully constructed mask of indifference and razor sharp wit. At least, not outside the safety of the loft. It was unnerving, and he wisely chose to divert Blaine’s attention away from her and ask about an errand he’d added to Kurt’s list that morning. He needed to allow her time to recover.

Finally, after a few minutes, she pushed away from the wall, rolled her shoulders to regain some of her composure, and said, “So, what part of the Shire are you from, Frodo?”

“I…uh…” Blaine looked to Kurt in his confusion. “Buckinghamshire?”

“Never heard of it,” she dismissed after a beat. “All right, let’s do this shit. Follow the call of the ring, hobbit.”

Blaine gawked at her. “What?”

“Take her to the meeting room,” Kurt translated, lips pursed in an attempt not to laugh.

“Oh. Right. I’ll introduce you to the others quickly before Mr. Smythe gets here,” Blaine said, back to business.

“I’ll see you later,” Kurt mumbled, watching the security camera swivel to face the opposite end of the corridor, so he could swoop in and peck Blaine on the lips, before embracing Santana.

“Wait, you’re not coming in?” She grabbed his sleeve in panic when he stepped back.

“I’m not invited,” he replied. “You’ll be fine, okay? Just remember what I said. Be polite. Don’t call anyone names. Including ‘hobbit’. Sing your heart out and enjoy it. They’ve already heard you sing. They just want to meet you and hear it in person. You can do this; you’ll _own_ that room.”

Nodding in reluctant understanding, she gripped his sleeve a little tighter for reassurance, then released it and followed Blaine down the hall. As Kurt watched the pair reach the meeting room, he prayed the creases she’d left in his shirt would somehow fix themselves. Even a friend’s nerves weren’t an excuse for scruffy clothing.

“Break a leg!” he called.

She tossed her hair in a much more Santana-like response, and the door closed behind them.

For the next hour and a half Kurt could barely think about his usual duties, urgent or otherwise. He logged in and out of each band member’s social media accounts on autopilot, blocking and scheduling posts based on a list Kitty had sent him; he sent passive aggressive replies to tedious emails, argued with David’s dog-sitter over the phone, and twirled in his swivel chair, his mind stuck inside that meeting room on the third floor. Even trolling the internet for clothes that could be tossed together to create an edgier, sophisticated and imaginative new image for the band didn’t distract him like it normally could.

Only the terrifying presence of Jonathan Smythe stopped Kurt from jumping up and demanding an update from Wes the moment he appeared. The CEO of Canary Records looked how Kurt imagined his son, Sebastian, would look in thirty years. He had many of the same features; his once chestnut hair was graying around his ears, there was a mouth that seemed permanently twisted into a smug smile, and Kurt recognized his suit from a new Armani line that hadn’t even been released yet. Oh yeah, this man raised Sebastian all right.

Kurt dipped his head to his laptop as Wes led the most important man in the building past his desk. His thumbnail was in the grip of his teeth the moment the office door shut behind them.

Where were the others? Mr. Smythe talking privately with Wes was a good thing, right? Was coffee a good enough excuse to go and find the boys and snoop out the results?

Kurt bolted from his desk—and walked headlong into Quinn.

“What happ—”

“Blaine sent me for you.”

“Oh. Where?” Kurt asked.

“Lobby. I’ll tell Wes you were sent on an errand.”

“Thank you!”

“Go.” Quinn nudged him good-naturedly and continued back to her desk.

Kurt didn’t even pretend to play the part of the corporate professional as he repeatedly jammed his finger on the elevator call button. When the doors didn’t open within a few seconds, he took the stairwell instead, bursting into the lobby a minute later. Blaine was sitting in one of the comfy chairs by the security guy who scanned visitors on their way in.

“What happened? Where’s Santana?”

“Sam’s taken her to the studio,” Blaine said and stood up.

“She…oh my god! So she…?”

“She got it. Sam’s showing her around the studio before her shift at the diner, and tomorrow she’s recording.”

* * *

The next morning Kurt was roused, not by a pesky ray of sunlight, but by the rapid pulsing of his own heart. The culprit soon became apparent as he felt teeth grazing gently on his neck. Kurt bit back a moan and instinctively tilted his head to open his neck still further. Blaine, who was spooned up behind him, murmured his appreciation. This time Kurt couldn’t contain a little gasp when his boyfriend latched onto a particularly sensitive hot spot behind Kurt’s left ear—the one that tended to leave him rutting shamelessly into any surface close enough to offer friction.

The last two weeks had been enlightening for the pair of them, with Blaine finding places that Kurt hadn’t even realized were hard-wired straight to his groin. He was so attentive—almost unbearably eager to pleasure Kurt any way he could. Kurt hadn’t gone a day since their first time without coming at least twice, and it was becoming more and more apparent that Blaine Anderson was a fix he was becoming addicted to all too quickly.

Who was he kidding? Kurt’s toes curled after a particularly harsh suck. He was already a goner.

Blaine by comparison, was particularly responsive to a little assertive dominance, often preferring to let Kurt control their love making. Being a naturally insistent personality anyway, Kurt was more than happy to oblige—except when Blaine teased his neck. That almost always was the exception.   

Peeking through one eye, Kurt laughed breathlessly at the luxurious bedroom around them. He was wrapped up in the arms of a famous singer in his unbelievably opulent suite in one of the most expensive and sophisticated hotels in New York City. How was this his life?

“What are you laughing at?” Blaine blew gently on what was sure to be an impressive hickey.

Kurt shuddered. “It feels weird waking up in a room like this,” Kurt admitted. “We haven’t been here since we started…you know.” God, how could he still feel bashful? He felt a blush spread the length of his body, pink and very obvious, thanks to his pale complexion.

Blaine chuckled. “I love it when you’re shy,” he whispered teasingly.

Kurt swatted at the hand tracing patterns up his side. “The one time I slept in your hotel room was after I was…” _attacked by your ex-boyfriend,_ he thought.

The hand at his side slid to his belly and pressed Kurt more tightly to Blaine’s chest. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to hold you that night,” he whispered into Kurt’s shoulder blade. “I wanted to wring his neck, but I needed to hold you more, make sure you were safe. I couldn’t bear the thought of you being alone. And if I let you out of my sight, my mind would have just…played out what happened.”

“Shhh.” Kurt rubbed his hand up and down Blaine’s forearm.

“Feeling you next to me that night…you were so close.” Blaine inhaled deeply, his nose pressed to Kurt’s thick hair. “But you weren’t mine. I couldn’t touch you. Especially after…”

“I wish you had,” Kurt said. And it was a relief to just _say it_. It had been agony pretending he didn’t need the security of Blaine’s embrace that night. “I wanted you to.”

“How did you want to be held?” Blaine asked.

“Like this,” Kurt said. Blaine’s knees slotted firmly behind his in reply, his rough and stubbly chin grazing Kurt’s jaw when he kissed the cheek that wasn’t snuggled into the pillow. Feeling the thud of Blaine’s heart like a massage to his naked shoulders, Kurt reached back to card his fingers through Blaine’s black curls. “I wanted you all around me.”

“We can make up for that,” Blaine said. “You’re stuck with me now. I love y…”

Kurt’s eyes fluttered open in surprise. The fan of air at his neck was suddenly harsher and loud. He didn’t dare move, for fear of spooking him. “You love what, baby?”

“I…I love…it,” Blaine stammered. “Holding you. I love that I can do that…”

A breath Kurt hadn’t noticed he was holding filtered out again. He hid his disappointment with a toothless smile. “I love that, too.”

Silence stretched between them, too tense for comfort.

 _It’s too soon anyway_ , Kurt reasoned. _They’re just words._

 _Three words no one has ever wanted to say to you,_ a nasty little voice that sounded suspiciously like his high school tormentors said from the back of his mind.

“Santana’s going to be a recording artist,” Kurt blurted, drowning out the negative inner voice and changing the subject.

“You’ve only just realized that?” Blaine deadpanned.

Kurt hummed; Blaine’s soft lips were making their way down his spine. “It’s just now sinking in. I knew she could do it, but it’s still a difficult thing to grasp, you know?”

“Yeah, it was difficult to get my head around it when Canary Records first signed us,” Blaine said.

Kurt’s tablet bleeped, alerting him to a new email. With a resigned sigh, he extracted himself from the warm body behind him to retrieve it.

\- - - -

_**To:** Kurt Hummel (PorcelainDiva94)_

_**From:** (QFabulousNYU)_

_Kurt,_

_Please make sure the boys are down in the lobby at 11:30. W’s meeting with Mr. S didn’t go well. I’ve hired a car to take us to a neutral location so they can talk._

_Quinn_

_P.S. Don’t answer this on any work accounts._

\- - - -

“Huh,” Blaine said, and Kurt realized he’d read the message over his shoulder.

“This makes sense to you then?” Kurt fished.

“Maybe. It’s complicated,” Blaine replied, rolling out of bed with a groan. “You’ve got to try out my shower. It’s the only reason I’ve come back here in the last two weeks.”

Recognizing Blaine’s obvious attempt to change subjects, Kurt simply replied, “Coming!”

He bit his lip when Blaine threw a salacious wink over his shoulder on the way to the bathroom, the enticing jiggle of his ass distractingly inviting. Tapping out a quick reply, he made sure it was sent from his personal email; then he followed the call of running water.

 _Was there such thing as a neutral location for a world famous boyband in New York City?_  

* * *

“One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war. Bow, shake, FIGHT!”

Beth Fabray squealed in her mad dash to lock Kurt’s thumb down with her own. He grinned, determined to make his inevitable defeat convincing for the six year old. Tongue poking out in concentration, she cackled with delight when her tiny thumb finally pinned Kurt’s down.

“One—two—three—”

“No!” he cried dramatically, ‘struggling’ to release his thumb from beneath hers.

“—four—five—six—seven—”

“Kurt, you suck at this, bro,” Puck sniggered.

“—eight—nine—TEN! BEAT YOU!”

Kurt flopped onto his back and wailed at the ceiling of Shelby Corcoran’s living room. Beth twirled in a giddy circle, high-fived her dad and leapt into Quinn’s arms, legs wrapping tightly around her waist like a spider monkey.

“I beat him!”

“Yeah, you did!” Quinn laughed. “Go see Aunt Shelby in the kitchen. She has cookies hidden in the pantry,” she stage-whispered.

“No, I don’t!” Shelby yelled. “The last thing she needs is _more_ sugar!”

“Do you think she’s bluffing?” Quinn kissed Beth’s nose.

“What’s buffling?”

“Bluffing is when someone lies to cover another lie,” Puck explained.

Realizing Beth probably didn’t get his adult humor, he distracted her by swinging her over his shoulder and grinning at her frantically kicking feet as they disappeared in search of Shelby’s hidden treats. Quinn smiled fondly at the giggles coming from the other side of the house as she settled beside Kurt on the rug.

“She’s adorable,” Kurt said.

“She’s a little monster,” Quinn contradicted. “I’ve never been more grateful for a morning meeting cancellation than today. Noah let her drink orange soda at like, eleven last night. She didn’t crash until two.”

“Yikes.”

“Lesson learned.”

“You sure Shelby’s okay with the guys using her house as a meeting place?”

“They can’t talk this over at Canary Records,” Quinn replied. “They’ve got cameras in all the meeting rooms; so it’s better this way. And Shelby was actually signed to the label back in the 90s; so allowing the boys to scheme in her house is like long overdue karma for her.”

"Did they drop her?" Kurt asked, intrigued.

"Two weeks before her debut CD was meant to be announced."

"Why?"

"It's a long story..." Quinn took a sip from her coffee mug, mulling over her explanation. "One of the execs at the time knocked her up while she was under contract. She had a 'no fornicating' clause in her contract; so she was too scared to tell him about the pregnancy. Apparently she hid the bump for some time and arranged for a gay couple to adopt the baby. It was a wasted effort in the end, though. She was found out and dropped from the label."

"Because she was a mom? They can't do that!"

"Not officially," Quinn said sadly. "She should have been protected by employees’ rights reg’s, and at least been given the courtesy of telling her side, but I get the impression he found reasons to convince the higher-ups to sever her contract without bringing the pregnancy into it. He was married and powerful within the company."

"That's disgusting,” Kurt spat. “What happened to the baby?"

"I went through with the adoption," Shelby said from the doorway.

Quinn's posture stiffened. Warily, she peered over her shoulder at her daughter's guardian. Shelby Corcoran was an attractive woman, slender and tanned, with a square jaw framed by long chocolate brown hair. Her age was evidenced only by the deep lines around her eyes and their faded light, dimmed by years of hardship.

A smile of reassurance from Shelby made Quinn relax a fraction.

"I was telling Kurt why you’re letting the band hold meetings here," Quinn explained unsurely.

"It's okay; I don't mind." Shelby sat herself beside Quinn on the floor and leaned back against the couch.

"The couple I promised my baby to were lovely men," Shelby began. "All they wanted was to start a family, but it was the 90s, and they struggled to find anyone willing to entrust their child to them. The start of the AIDS epidemic in the 80s was still too fresh in people’s minds. People were wary of gay men," she added, sensing Kurt's question before he could vocalize it.

“Or they used it as an excuse,” Kurt said bitterly.

"You’re probably right,” Shelby agreed. “When Canary Records dropped me, the adoption paperwork already had gone through, but I could have cancelled the whole thing. I still had that right. And I nearly did. But they were _so_ excited to be starting their family after so many rejections, and I just...I couldn't do it. I convinced myself it would be easier to pursue my career if I entrusted her to them."

Kurt smiled sadly at the pair. He could see why Quinn had latched onto Shelby. 

"My singing career never did take off, in case you're wondering." Shelby's laugh was jaded, false. "I went back to school and qualified as a teacher. Moved back to Ohio. Then seven years ago, one of my students fell pregnant.” She nudged Quinn in the side good naturedly. “I watched Quinn and Noah struggle through the first nine months, and then the next two years of high school trying to be parents and get their diplomas. When I overheard them fighting about jobs and college applications I offered them a solution."

"Fostering Beth," Kurt summed up. Head tilted in interest, he bit his top lip and met Quinn's eyes. "Were you...I mean, did you ever consider...?"

"Giving Beth up permanently? Yes. Mom wanted me to," Quinn admitted. "And I was going to do it, but...I got talking to Shelby and…Well, she told me about her daughter. How she spent years trying to trace the men who adopted her."

"I found them the year Quinn got pregnant," Shelby elaborated, "living in the Midwest. I reached out to my daughter, but…she didn't need me. It turns out giving birth to a child doesn’t make you her mother if you were never there. I didn't watch her grow up. I wasn’t the person she ran to when she was hurt. Her dads did all that. So I left."

"I didn't want that with Beth," Quinn said. "I couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to reach out to her. But I knew Noah and I needed to grow up and make something of ourselves. For her. So we packed up for New York. I attended NYU, and Noah found a job as a security guard at a mall. I started my internship at Canary Records right after my freshman year of college and worked part time as Wes’ assistant in the U.S. until he took me on full time after I graduated. I’ve been around these guys in some capacity or other for four years."

The soft giggles of a little girl, clear as a bell, floated into the living room from the kitchen.

"I'm still her mom. I still get to watch her grow up," Quinn said.

"Isn't it confusing for Beth?" Kurt asked. "I mean, you're her mom, but Shelby takes care of her while you're away. Has she ever gotten you confused?"

"No," Shelby said firmly. "I'm Aunt Shelby. Quinn is Mom. Noah is Dad. We don't stray from those titles."

"We're a little unconventional...but it works."

"And as for allowing the boys to meet here, I lost my baby and my career within a month of each other," Shelby said. "I’m more than happy to sit back and watch those boys get everything out of those bastards I never could."

“Do you know what Wes is planning?” Kurt asked Quinn, delicately changing the subject.

“No, not the details," Quinn said. "It’s something big though.”

* * *

Quinn, Kurt, Shelby and Puck were being bossed around the kitchen by Beth when the meeting in the study adjourned. Kurt, who was decorating freshly baked cookies as they cooled, handed the piping bag of icing to Shelby; then he, Quinn and Puck followed Wes, Kitty and the five band members into the living room. Blaine flopped down into an armchair, and Kurt allowed himself to be pulled into his lap. Quinn perched herself on the chair’s arm because the couch was full of Warblers, and Puck leaned against the far wall, outside the circle.

“Hi,” Blaine greeted Kurt, their fingers threading together.

“Hey.”

Kurt ignored the whistles around them and kissed Blaine sweetly. Their relationship was so new, that even the three hours Blaine was cooped up in the study felt too long. And he wasn’t afraid to show it, since the band obviously had an unhealthy fascination with their relationship anyway.

“You two are sickening,” Nick moaned, as if on cue. “You make me want puke gumballs.”

Kurt and Blaine flipped him off simultaneously.

“You guys took your time,” Kurt said.

“We had a lot to talk about,” Wes said, from the armchair by the front window. "But we’ve made a decision."

“Decision about what?”

Wes’ head tilted at the question as he sought Blaine out behind Kurt. “You haven’t told him? After that massive fuss you made a week ago about me sending Kurt away?”

“I didn’t ask,” Kurt defended.

“And I thought it would be better to actually figure out what we were doing first,” Blaine said.

“And that is?” Quinn prompted.

"We're holding the record company to ransom," Blaine said.

Kurt cocked his head. “How?" He looked from Blaine to Wes, and then glanced at David, Jeff, Nick, Trent, and Kitty in turn.

"Our contract is due for renewal after the release of the third album," David explained. "We know Canary Records wants to sign us for another two, but we haven't officially agreed yet. We've been waiting to see how the third album finishes up. With all this drama with Nick and Blaine and their songs, though, it looks like we'll have to negotiate the terms a little sooner."

"Okay, so when you say 'holding them to ransom' you mean..."

"It means if they don't meet our conditions, I will be taking the boys elsewhere," Wes said. "We're not being unreasonable here. Either Blaine and Nick and any other members of the band are credited for the songs they write, by their real names, followed by full creative freedom on all future projects, or we walk."

"What happens if they say no?" Kurt asked.

"They won't," Wes said surely.

"But what if they do? Hypothetically," Trent said anxiously.

"Then we'll have to decide," Blaine said. "Do we stay together and hope another label signs us, or....?"

"Or do we split up?" Jeff finished. "Go our separate ways."

"Wait, no one said anything about splitting up!" Trent exclaimed.

"We don't want to, Trent, but we have to face reality," Nick said. "If this doesn't go the way we hope, we can't guarantee another label will take us on. Once a Warbler, always a Warbler. That won't change. We'll still be brothers. We just..."

"Won't be a band." Blaine summed up.

“And you won't need your entourage,” Quinn added coldly. The five band members looked at one another, puzzled. “Right. Figures you’d forget there are more than five people’s careers at stake here.”

Kitty shot a knowing smirk at Wes, as if she'd predicted this reaction from Quinn. Wes remained still, his expression unchanged.

“Quinn—”

“You’re unbelievable,” Quinn hissed at him. “ _Four_ years I’ve been picking up the slack for you. Doing extra hours every time their blatant disrespect for others drove another employee away. Two of those years away from my daughter in a thankless dead-end job, disguised as this ‘amazing opportunity’. And now you're telling me you’d risk my job _and_ Noah’s, without even consulting us? We have a child to help support in New York! We can’t afford to be messed with like this.”

“Quinn, we are consulting you now,” Wes argued.

“No, you’re not." Her voice was low. "The decision's already been made. You’re telling us what’s already been decided, not asking the rest of your employees to weigh in on it.”

“And as for the dead-end job remark—”

“Oh, don’t sit there and lecture me on how good I have it,” she spat.

“Quinn,” Puck said, trying to hold her gaze long enough for the warning to transfer.

“How many promotions have I been offered since I graduated?” Quinn said. “None. I _begged_ you to give Noah a job, and you promoted him to head of security. Kurt’s been here _eight months,_ and he’s the future assistant stylist. And it's not like we don't all know why he's being fast tracked. Clearly I should have been sleeping with one of you a long time ago.”

“HEY!” Blaine yelled, trying to leap up in anger. Kurt gripped his boyfriend’s shoulder to avoid being dumped on the floor, while attempting to calm him down.

“ENOUGH!” Wes roared.

The room fell quiet. Wes studied the faces around him sternly.

"We will discuss your issues with my management style privately, Quinn, but I can assure all of you I would not even remotely consider putting any of you through this were I not positive we will win."

"Yeah, whatever."

Quinn's smile was so venomous that Kurt was amazed Wes didn't flinch back from it. Then again, perhaps this wasn’t the first time she’d spoken up against him. She stormed from the room before anyone had time to respond. Puck started to follow her down the hall with a resigned sigh. Before stepping over the threshold, however, he paused.

“She didn’t mean that how it came out,” he said, looking only at Kurt.

Blaine snorted. Puck ignored him.

“Seriously. You’re my boy. She makes a comment like that again, you tell me. Cool?”

Kurt nodded his agreement, and Puck was gone, no doubt to try and calm her down. Only then did the tension in the room drop, if only marginally.

“Kurt,” Wes was the first to speak. “What Quinn said about—”

“It’s okay,” Kurt cut across him. “She’s upset.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s allowed to say shit like that,” Blaine mumbled darkly so only Kurt could hear. Kurt gripped the collar of Blaine’s shirt in warning and felt him relax back into the armchair with a grudging huff.

"Wes, how can you be so sure they’ll accept your conditions?" Kurt deliberately changed the subject.

"Because The Warblers are the label's most profitable recording artists," Wes replied, "and we have two secret weapons they don’t."

"What?"

Wes smirked. "Kitty Wilde—and a very large and wildly loyal fan base."


	29. A Necessary Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay on this chapter guys. Real life and writers block got in the way again. Thanks for your patience and comments as ever. They inspire me to get to the end. Also a big thanks to my two beta readers, LadyFiona89 and AncientGleek. You guys rock!

**_The Hollywood Reporter_ **

**_The Warblers: Third Album Their Last?_**

_Now is officially the time to panic, Warblers fans! A source reveals that a dispute with their label could pull the chances of a fourth album into question!_

_Here’s what we know: The Warblers signed a three-album deal with Canary Records four years ago. After the release of the third album in November, our favorite British heart-throbs will be due to re-sign with the label._

_As of the publication of this article, no new deal has been signed!_

_Why the delay? Representatives for the band have declined to comment, so it’s all hearsay, but from the sound of it, relations between The Warblers and their label have been strained for years, thanks to “personal and creative differences”._

_And it didn’t take a lot of digging to see where the problem may lie.  Of the two albums released, not one of the songs is credited to any of the five band members. We know from YouTube pre-fame videos that there are at least three very talented songwriters in this group._

_Has the label ripped away their creative integrity and used the usual roster of songwriters to guarantee album sales?_

_Or perhaps we’re being cynical. You can’t deny it’s suspicious though. Earlier in the year, the band made the drastic decision to sever ties with Carmel Public Relations, signing instead with New Wilde Promotions. It’s not farfetched to think a new label could be on the horizon._

_Do you want a fourth studio album? Let Canary Records know and save The Warblers!_

**Comments thread:**

**Emily W**

THIS IS BULLSHIT!

**Duchess Sterling**

What?! NO! I did not sign up for fandom life to have my boys ripped from me! Fuck you Canary! Give us their fourth, fifth and sixth albums. Like, now!

**Gabby T**

No no no no no no no no!!!! *Wails like a banshee!*

**Suck my Blainers**

Just let them write their own songs! URGH!

**Marco Give-a-Fuck-o**

Yawn. The sooner these ladies disappear into obscurity the better.

**Sammy B**

GTFO OFF THE INTERNET MARCO NO ONE GIVES-A-FUCK-O ABOUT YOUR OPINION! DON'T LIKE THEM TURN THEM OFF!!!

**Hayley Duvall**

Guys, calm down. There's no way in hell Canary Records won't renew their contract, but we need to give them a nudge. Click this link and let them know you want another album. But be respectful. They're not going to listen if you hurl insults at them. Tell them how you feel about our idols. Explain what it would mean to us, to hear them singing their own words. If enough of us protest, they WILL change their minds. Do this for the boys. They've done so much for us. It's time to return the favor.

**Warblers Street Team UK**

FANDOM RALLY CRY!

* * *

“Wes, you sneaky bastard,” Kurt muttered.

It had barely been a day, and the cogs of Wes’ and Kitty’s plan were already in motion.

Kurt and Blaine were scrolling through the hysteria in the comments section. A rack filled with clothes was waiting to one side of Blaine’s hotel suite, ready for Kurt to fit them to Blaine for the upcoming promotional tour.

“There’s a reason we chose him to manage us,” Blaine said, resting his chin on Kurt's shoulder from behind to better see the monitor. "Back at school he was like a gavel-wielding Avenger."

Blaine’s breath was warm and tickled Kurt’s neck; he took in a sharp breath, feeling conflicting urges—wanting to pull him in closer, but also barely restraining the urge to shrug his shoulders to put some distance between them.

He wasn’t supposed to be with Blaine—at least for now.

After Quinn’s outburst the day before, he’d agreed with Wes in private to maintain a professional distance from his boyfriend. After all, if someone he considered a friend thought his job so far hadn’t been earned on merit alone, why would his career-driven acquaintances?

Unfortunately—or fortunately—depending on one’s outlook, Mercedes was as mischievous as she was talented, and after she and Kurt had divided up David, Jeff and Trent’s wardrobes between them, she quickly disappeared into Nick’s suite with a sly wink, leaving Kurt no choice but to tend to Blaine.

"Did Kitty do this?" Kurt marveled at the number of hits the article had picked up in an hour.

"She’s been building contacts with news outlets since she left high school." Blaine frowned when Kurt ducked away from a kiss on his neck, watching him busily scurry to the clothes rack. “If in doubt, call in reinforcements,” he added lamely.

“Isn’t it mean to mess with your fans’ emotions like this…?” Kurt held up a navy suit jacket for Blaine to slip on.

“Yeah, I know.” Blaine shrugged a little guiltily as he slid into the jacket and fidgeted with the right sleeve. "Kitty thinks we’ll make our point more quickly and effectively this way. And the more this rumor spreads, the more likely we are to gain interest from other labels."

"I thought you guys wanted to stay put?” Kurt asked. “Arms up."

Blaine did as instructed, jolting slightly when Kurt's fingers cinched in and pinned the jacket to a better fit at his waist.

"Canary Records doesn’t need to know that," Blaine said. "And if we get offers, they're more likely to meet our demands."

"If they're willing to play your game."

"Ouch!"

"Sorry!" Kurt grimaced, careful not to stab Blaine with the pin again. "They're not going to make this easy. I can't imagine the man who raised Sebastian taking Wes’ and Kitty's strategy lying down."

"Maybe not," Blaine acquiesced, dropping his arms once Kurt had finished and turning this way and that in front of the mirror. "The thing is, record company types are terrified of teenage girls. They don’t understand their passion, and they'll do anything to keep them quiet.”

“That’s because they’re terrifying,” Kurt said. Blaine scoffed, and Kurt laughed fondly at his unfailing loyalty. “You still have bruises up your arms from being mobbed at a movie theatre.”

“I acted the same way the first time I met Adam Levine,” Blaine admitted.

Kurt made a mental note to play a little Maroon 5 if he ever wanted to get lucky.

And besides, our fandom gets shit done,” Blaine continued. “I asked them to donate to charity instead of sending me gifts for my birthday. They raised £1.6 million for Cancer Research UK.”

Kurt’s answering whistle was low. Watching Blaine remove the jacket, he stored it carefully inside a zipped plastic bag and hung it up again. A pair of arms made a tentative move around his waist, and he tensed in response.

“Blaine,” he said, an edge of warning in his tone.

Blaine kissed the spot where the back of Kurt’s neck met his hairline.

“Blaine, we’re working. Stop.”

Dropping his hands from Kurt’s waist, Blaine took a step back. Confused, hazel eyes left Kurt tingling where he could feel them following him, but he had to remain firm on this. The itch to kiss, embrace and just breathe in his boyfriend needed to be kept at bay when they were working. So he ignored the questions he knew hung in the air, unsaid, and grabbed a pair of pants from the rack.

“These should fit you, but I need to turn them up at the bottom,” he said, all business.

“Okay.” Blaine took the pants and pulled down the zipper on the jeans he was wearing.

“Blaine, could you…” Kurt swallowed. “Never mind, I’ll just turn around.”

“What? Kurt, you’ve seen me in _less_ than my underwear!” Blaine’s laugh was incredulous.

“I know, I just… I—”

With a dramatic eye roll, Blaine said, “Fine. Turn around.”

Kurt did, his attention focusing out the window where Central Park stretched into the distance below them, hyper-aware of the sound of jeans sliding down Blaine’s legs. His eyes remained on the skyline though, and not the moving figure reflected in the glass.

“I’m decent,” Blaine called.

Bustling over, Kurt dropped to the floor at his feet and focused on his task, turning up the excess fabric at Blaine’s ankles and pinning it to the correct length. The last pin had just slid into place when fingers made a tentative trail through his hair. Kurt shivered, eyes to the floor; the pads of Blaine’s calloused fingers were gentle on his scalp.

“Blaine, please,” Kurt practically whined.

Once again Blaine took away his hands. Kurt jumped to his feet, but the hands were back before he could dart away, this time gripping his shoulder while the other held his chin so Blaine could look him in the eyes.

“What’s going on with you?” he asked, concerned.

“Nothing…”

“Kurt.”

“I just need to get this done!” Kurt cried. “You’re due at the studio in forty minutes, and we’re meeting Rachel to go over her lines, and we’re flying to London tomorrow morning, and I need to pack and make sure you guys turn up to the airport. And I can’t until I’ve finished pinning these clothes to fit you. _And_ I have to help Mercedes and Jan alter five wardrobes later, because the interns got food poisoning from a sushi restaurant last night. I can’t do all that if you keep distracting me with your… with… with _you_!”

Blaine took a step back, palms up to placate him. “Okay, first of all, breathe.”

Kurt’s answering glare was bordering on murderous.

“Second of all, you don’t have to come to the studio. Go ahead and help Mercedes. I can meet Rachel without you there. I’ll tell the boys to do their own laundry for once.”

“Bu—”

“—I’m not negotiating here, Kurt.”

“I have to go to the studio. I promised Santana I’d check in on her.”

“She’s a big girl. She doesn’t need babysitting,” Blaine retorted.

“That’s debatable.”

“All right—compromise. You come to the studio with me; you can bring some outfits that can be done by hand while we’re there. Then you can stay to babysit Santana, and I’ll head out to take care of Rachel on my own; you don’t need to be around for her lesson. Deal?”

Kurt sighed his defeat. It sounded better than having a panic attack. “Okay, fine.”

“Is…” Blaine studied the new length of his pants, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “Is there anything else… you know, bothering you?”

“No,” Kurt said.

It was too quick a response. Kurt could see it in the skeptical pinch of his lips. The look was gone a moment later, replaced by a smile that was dim, like a flashlight low on batteries. Blaine gestured for Kurt to turn so he could slide back out of the pants. Kurt did so, bottom lip in the grip of his teeth.

Distance was a necessary evil.

* * *

“I’m losing the will to live,” Santana declared, making her way out of the recording booth and onto the chair beside Kurt. “I’ve sung this song a thousand times.”

Kurt’s eyes remained fixed on a dropped stitch from Jeff’s dress shirt. “Mr. Producer over there thinks the next couple of takes should do it,” he said.

“Hey, no sharing secrets from this side of the glass, dude,” Sam said. He slid his headphones over his ears, fiddling with the music-editing software on his laptop.

“I need some honey tea for my throat,” Santana said.

“Cafeteria is three floors down, second door on the right,” Kurt replied.

“That was a hint, Hummel,” she said drolly. “It’s your job, remember?”

“Correction, I answer to my employers.” Kurt’s answering scowl could have cut through her like a shard of glass. “Last I checked your name wasn’t Blaine, David, Trent, Jeff, Nick or Wes.”

“Last I checked, Wes said to make me comfortable,” Santana argued.

Kurt rolled the needle between his thumb and finger idly. “I came to give you some moral support, Santana. Not to wait on you. You have legs. I suggest you use them.”

“What crawled up your ass?” she grumbled.

“My to-do list.”

“Kurt,” Sam interrupted. “Bro, can you find Wes, please. I need his take on this edit.”

“Sure. I’ll be right back,” Kurt said brightly, slotting the needle back inside his sewing box.

“What the fuck?” Santana exclaimed.

“What? I do favors for people who say ‘please’.”

Smirking at the middle finger she aimed his way, he mimed placing it in his pocket, and set off in pursuit of his boss. Naturally, he was nowhere in sight. And of course the first person he met was the last he wanted to see. She came to a halt in the doorway to the fourth floor bathroom, rigid to the points of her Jimmy Choos.

“Kurt,” Quinn said timidly.

“Sam sent me to find Wes,” Kurt said, monotone. “Santana’s recorded her part of the track—”

“Kurt, please?”

“—and Sam needs his critique now before they wrap for the day.”

“Kurt, can we talk?”

Ducking his head, he replied carefully, “Look, you made your point about my career’s unrealistic progression, Quinn. I don’t need to hear it again.”

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t know.” She huffed in frustration and took a wary step closer, like a chastised cat grudgingly seeking its owner’s approval. “I wanted to take it back the moment I said it.”

“I really do need to find Wes,” Kurt deflected.

“Kurt, please, just let me explain,” she said, the barest inflection gave away her exasperation.

“I will, Quinn, just not right now,” Kurt said firmly. “I’ve got stuff to do. We’re at work. Whatever you need to say can wait for a better moment. Can you please tell me where Wes is?”

“He’s on the roof making calls.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

It was 6:00 by the time Kurt shouldered the front door of the loft open, a suitcase filled with clothes in need of sewing dragged behind him. He waved a greeting to Blaine and Rachel, who were glaring and slapping at each other with rolled up scripts.

The first few days of dialect tutoring had been stressful, with Blaine squeezing her in for tutorials between recordings, meetings, and her theatre schedule. Which meant they were spending a lot of time arguing over Blaine’s teaching methods everywhere they practiced—whether in the loft, Blaine’s hotel room, in Rachel’s dressing room, or even in restaurants or espresso shops.

“Kurt, tell your boyfriend I don’t sound like Dick Van Dyke on helium when I sing my lines!” Rachel cried in lieu of a greeting.

“Kurt does not tell lies,” Blaine said, and received another whack to his shoulder with a script.

“Guys, play nice,” Kurt scolded.

“Not until he starts taking this seriously,” Rachel accused.

Kurt knew for a fact his boyfriend’s description of Rachel’s acting was perfectly serious, but he wasn’t about to fan that flame. “I’ll be in my room sewing while you guys finish up.”

“You need help with the suitcase?” Blaine asked.

“No, I’ve got it.” Kurt waved him off absently and dragged the heavy burden into his room.

For the next hour he could hear every line of dialogue, frustrated curse word, and uttered reassurance from the living room—when his trusty sewing machine wasn’t at work, that is. He’d altered three shirts, two pairs of pants and a jacket when the quiet became apparent; Blaine and Rachel were conversing, but it sounded oddly… civil.

Tiptoeing past the threshold, Kurt stood out of Rachel's line of sight and observed them.

 _"This roof keeps me dry when the rain falls,"_ she sang _._

"No, you're still rolling the word 'falls' too much."

"I don't even know what that means!" Rachel huffed.

Blaine's pursed his lips in irritation, eyeing her tense frame thoughtfully. "You just need to understand the differences between American and British patterns of speech," he said patiently.

"I'm trying!"

"I now you are. Look, when you say words like 'fall', 'ball' and 'stall', you have a slight inflection. You naturally go to a higher note at the 'A'. In England it's deeper, like there's an invisible ‘W’ in the word. Fawll."

"Fawwl," Rachel sounded it out. "Fawwl."

"Okay, let's try this." Blaine scooted closer. "I'm going to say it like you would, and I want you to watch my mouth shape the word. I'm then going to say it with my accent, and you're going to tell me what’s different. Clear?"

"Okay." Rachel’s eyes narrowed to a squint.

This was starting to look like progress.

Blaine said the word both ways and repeated himself twice. Sitting back expectantly, he caught Kurt's eye over Rachel's shoulder and took advantage of her preoccupation to wink at him.

"Your mouth was a little wider when you said it the American way," she revealed slowly. "You were poutier when you said it with your accent."

"Exactly!" Blaine beamed at her. "It's not all in the voice. How you shape the words makes a difference, too. Try again."

Kurt indicated his bedroom to Blaine with a jerk of the head.

_"This roof keeps me dry when the rain falls,_

_This door helps to keep the cold at bay._

_On this floor, I can stand on my own two feet."_

"That was better!" Blaine beamed. "Try not to pronounce the 'R' so much in the word 'floor'. We're lazy with that letter in the south of England, and it's softer, like there's an 'H' in the way. And the 'A' in 'stand' needs to be more abrupt."

"How?"

"Let's take the word 'splat' as an example," he elaborated. "When you say it, you prolong the sound of the 'A' before the 'T'. In Miss Honey's accent you want to shorten that. It's the same with words like 'stand', 'land' or 'mad'. Don't hold the 'A' for as long. Am I making any sense?"

"I think so," she said unsurely.

"Okay, how about you practice for a few minutes? I'll be right back."

Blaine hopped over the back of the couch.

"How's she doing?" Kurt whispered.

"Better." Blaine followed Kurt into his bedroom. "Fewer temper tantrums."

"Do you think she'll be ready?"

"It's possible. We fly out tomorrow; so I'm going to have to Skype with her. She’s not going to be a complete train wreck though."

"Thank you so much for doing this."

"It's okay," Blaine said, fingers in Kurt's hair at the back of his neck. "She's growing on me."

"Let's hope it's mutual." Kurt shuffled out of Blaine’s reach, suddenly rethinking the wisdom of this conversation being held by the bed where they’d first been intimate. The work day wasn’t yet over. “Um, a car’s picking you up in thirty minutes. Sam has the final edit of “True Enough For You,” and Wes wants you guys to hear it before our flight tomorrow.”

“Awesome! You’re coming too, right?”

Kurt shook his head no. “Jan gave me a suitcase full of Nick’s clothes for the promotional tour. She wants them finished and put into storage before we leave.”

“You can’t sew them at the hotel?” Blaine raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Come on, just pack for London now and come back with me. You can listen to the song with us.”

“I don’t have time,” Kurt insisted. “And anyway, my sewing machine is here. I’ve been using Jan’s spare one, and it doesn’t like me.”

“Bring it with you.”

“I’ll get more done here.”

Blaine pouted irritably and crossed his arms. “Okay, I’m not playing anymore. What’s wrong with you today?” he all but demanded.

“I— what? I just told you; I have stuff to do.”

“And I’m calling bullshit,” Blaine retorted. “You’ve been hot and cold with me all day, Kurt. One minute you’re fine, the next you’re warding me off like a vampire slayer with a clove of garlic. This isn’t just today’s work load.”

“Yes, it is—”

“—you’re avoiding me,” Blaine said bluntly.

“No, I’m—”

“What happened to always talking?” Blaine demanded. “Two weeks ago you said we need to stop hiding things from one another. Or does that statement only apply to me?”

It was like Blaine had slapped him across the face.

“That’s not fair. I just… I think we need to be more professional at work,” Kurt said guardedly.

Blaine stared back at him dumbly for a long, tense moment. “That’s what this is about? What _Quinn_ said?”

Kurt’s silence was confirmation enough.

“You can’t take what she says seriously—”

“—Yes, Blaine, I can, because she’s right!” Kurt hissed. “She’s right. There’s a line. A line between professional and personal, and we crossed it because we’ve been so wrapped up in _us._ It has to stop before someone worse than Quinn gets us in trouble.”

“Kurt, what are you… are you… breaking up with me?”

“No!” Kurt lurched forwards in panic. “No! Oh god, no! But I need you to understand; Quinn won’t be the last person to accuse us of being unprofessional. We’ve talked about how the media and public could perceive our relationship, but we forgot about our colleagues. The people who see everything I achieve as a privilege earned by _fucking you_. I can’t be that guy, Blaine.”

“Kurt, I…” Blaine said weakly. “It’s just me. Earlier, when you wouldn’t even look at me… We were in _my_ room. We’re in _your_ home now. No one can see us. You can drop the pretense when we’re alone like this.”

“No, I can’t.” Kurt gentled his voice. “Wes could have walked in on us this afternoon, baby.”

Blaine’s answering laugh was hollow. He blinked up at the ceiling. “If I’m not allowed to touch you right now, you can’t call me ‘baby’.”

“What?” Kurt spluttered. “Blaine, be serious.”

“I _am_ being serious, Kurt.”

“Bab—” Kurt drew in a frustrated breath and tentatively took a step closer, imploring Blaine to understand. “I wasn’t supposed to be doing that fitting with you. Mercedes... if Wes came in and saw us not working...”

“He’s seen me do worse than cuddle a man I’m in a relationship with!” Blaine said unhelpfully.

“Didn’t need to know that.”

“Kurt, please, just… just come with me to hear the song. I want you to hear it with us. Bring the clothes with you. Bring the sewing machine. Pack your stuff. You’ll have to leave for our flight earlier if you spend the night here anyway.”

“No, I need the quiet. You’re distracting.”

“I’ll leave you alone!” Blaine insisted. “You can set up in my room—the light’s better—and I’ll spend the night with the boys. Away from you. Just... please come hear our new single.”

“Blaine, I can hear the song anytime. I _can’t_ leave these clothes. I have a deadline.”

“But—”

“NO!” Kurt shouted.

The force of the word physically propelled Blaine backwards into the dresser. The apartment fell silent. Kurt covered his mouth with trembling fingers, unable to look away from Blaine’s stunned, hurt, suspiciously wet eyes.

“I… I should go,” Blaine whispered.

“No, don’t go! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to… I—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Blaine mumbled.

He ducked past the curtain into the living area. Rachel stood awkwardly by the couch, script up to her nose, pretending she hadn’t heard every word between them.

“Where are you going?” Kurt tried to stop Blaine, holding his arm, but he pulled out of Kurt’s grasp.

“To wait for my car outside.”

“Blaine, someone could recognize you,” Kurt said, rushing after him.

“I’ll take that chance if it gets me away from this right now,” Blaine said.

He grabbed up his jacket from the arm of the couch, said goodbye to Rachel, promising to give her tips over Skype until her Matilda debut, and exited the loft without another word.

Lowering himself to the couch, Kurt thought over the last ten minutes, knees folded up under his chin, willing his heart to slow again. Rachel must have made tea, because a steaming mug materialized on the coffee table before him.

“Can you believe him…?” he said, once she’d seated herself.

“Actually… I can,” Rachel replied. “You couldn’t have gone to hear the song?”

“Not you, too? I’ve heard it!” Kurt exclaimed. “Over and over. I’ll listen when I have a minute to breathe.” He bumped his forehead on his knee with frustration. “Why does everything in my life have to run by someone else’s schedule?”

“Oh my god, Kurt, even _I_ can tell he wasn’t trying to complicate your schedule,” Rachel said. “If anything he was trying to help.”

“Then why the hell was he being so pushy?” Kurt whined.

“Well… other than the whole ‘you’re avoiding him’ thing—don’t look at me like that! We don’t have walls. I couldn’t _not_ hear you—I think he just really wanted you to hear the song. That’s what he kept coming back to,” Rachel began.

“Why though? I know its Santana’s debut, but… it’s just a song.”

“I’m going to give you ten seconds to figure out why your _songwriter_ boyfriend would want you with him when the final version of his new single is played for the first time,” Rachel said, very slowly like she was talking to a toddler. “If you fail, I will be forced to roll up my script again and attack you.”

“What?”

“One—two—three—four—five—”

“OH… SHIT!”


	30. True Enough For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, apologies for the month long hiatus. The delay was caused by a combination of real life complications, writers block, two beta readers who are very thorough (I went through 11 drafts between them), and my inability to write a song without tearing my hair out. 
> 
> Thank you to LadyFiona89 and AncientGleek for your help with this story. You guys are the best betas a girl could ask for.
> 
> When I first started posting this story, I had 20 chapters already written. I no longer have that cushion, so updates will be fewer than they were before. All I can ask is for your patience. And I assure you, I will never abandon this story. I'm in this for the duration.

Fighting with Blaine sucked.

Kurt swirled his coffee moodily around his half empty cardboard cup, the hum of people around him in JFK's international terminal an incessant irritation. Didn't these complete strangers know he was busy stewing? 

Having vaulted down the stairs of his apartment building to apologize to Blaine the night before, Kurt had despaired when he was instead faced with the tail-lights of the car that had just picked him up, speeding off with his boyfriend unseen behind the tinted windows.

Maybe Blaine just needed some space to cool off? That’s what Kurt told himself as he worked feverishly into the night, altering the entire contents of the suitcase Jan and Mercedes had given him, fuelled by the anxious pulse of his heart. Deep down he knew it wasn’t Blaine who needed to calm down though. It was Kurt who had snapped.  

Finally, he could delay the inevitable no longer. He packed his own bags, called a cab back to Manhattan, said goodbye to Rachel and Santana, and let himself into Blaine's suite at 2am.

Blaine's empty suite.

And it remained so until Kurt was jolted awake from his less-than-ideal position on the couch, by the very loud, deliberate slam of the bedroom door a couple of hours later.

Was fighting even the right word when the other person refused to exist in the same space as you, let alone hold a conversation?

The sound of excited squeals and shushing brought Kurt back to the present. He looked over to where he knew Blaine had made a solitary camp for himself in the general waiting area. With a sigh, Kurt lamented Blaine’s habit of eschewing the VIP lounge, where he’d be relatively safe from fan frenzy. He preferred to make himself available to his fans in public. After all, without the fans, the Warblers would be nothing.

A small group of girls descended on him, talking excitedly over one another to try and hold Blaine's attention the longest. Kurt hoisted his satchel onto his shoulder and strolled warily towards the group. Puck was already on the scene, standing back far enough to allow Blaine to charm his admirers, but close enough to serve as a warning. So Kurt perched himself on a nearby seat and waited for a sign that Puck needed back up. 

A _ny excuse to get close, right?_ The nasty little voice in his ear was back. _Now he's giving you the same treatment you gave him yesterday. Idiot._

Kurt supposed he deserved the silence, not that this knowledge made it any easier to bear the longing feeding through his body, like a drug administered through an I.V. drip.

It was just so frustrating. Blaine must have known there would be times when displays of affection would be off limits. Why did his head exist in some magical alternate universe, where actions have no consequences, love takes precedence over practicality, and souls are bared through melody?

Oh, god, the song. _True Enough For You_ , written under the penname, Ben Luvdall, until Canary Records recognizes the true author for who he is: Blaine Anderson.

Was the song for Kurt? Rachel certainly thought so, but it was difficult for Kurt to wrap his head around the idea. Could someone— _Blaine—_ actually be inspired to write a potential chart topper…about _him_?

His self-esteem preened at the thought while the realist in him positively scoffed.

But still, maybe it wasn't so farfetched... his own feelings for Blaine were so intense that he'd actually been tempted to write romantic sonnets and cheeky limericks, honoring the most delectable parts of Blaine's body. 

The group around Blaine accepted hugs from the singer in turn and scurried away, practically tripping over each other in their excitement. Kurt relaxed a fraction, but he and Puck knew better than to leave him alone now. His location was known; there was every chance a new wave of fans could swarm in.

“Since when are you and Anderson not joined at the hip?” Quinn took the seat beside Kurt, and looked to where Blaine was studiously pretending Kurt wasn't sitting just a dozen rows behind him.

“Since I took what you said at Shelby's to heart and tried to keep a professional distance between us,” Kurt said sharply.

“Oh.” She propped one leg up on her seat, chin on her knee. The scuffs on the floor were of sudden interest to her. “I thought you guys were just trying to keep the fans guessing,” she said.

“No.”

Although it was a good point. They did need to keep the rumors to a minimum in public. Not that he'd let her know that.

“You said we could talk when we weren't busy,” Quinn said slowly. “We're stuck here until our flight boards.”

“I'm not sure there's anything to say,” Kurt replied wearily. “You think Wes is doing favors for the guy his star is fucking. It's not like I can stop you thinking it.”

“No,” she responded sharply. “I don't think that.”

“Uh huh.” Sure.

“Kurt, you’re the best assistant this band has ever had,” Quinn corrected. “But Blaine is the dumbass who couldn't keep his hands off you. It’s complicated everything. Promoting you to a position in wardrobe is Wes' way of giving you more responsibility, at a professional distance from your boyfriend.”

Kurt eyed her shrewdly. “That's not what you were saying before.”

“I didn't mean it the way it sounded!” Quinn exclaimed. “Will you just hear me, instead of filling in the blanks for me?”

“Fine.”

“Kurt, the work you do with Mercedes started when you and Blaine were still dancing around each other,” Quinn began. “Wes is giving you the opportunity because he thinks you could be a great stylist. Mercedes and Jan think so, too. Blaine does... and so do I.”

Kurt blinked down at his lap.

“Look, I don't expect you to believe me, but there’s not much that goes on in Wes’ office that I don’t know about.”

“So why did you make it sound like I was getting perks in exchange for sex?” Kurt asked coldly.

“Because I was mad at Wes. I wasn't thinking. I’m _so sorry_ I made you feel that way.”

He met her gaze for the first time since she’d sat down, really looked and saw the remorse deep in her green eyes, and gave a jerky nod of acceptance. He believed her.

“To be honest, I'm not even mad at you,” Kurt admitted, swallowing thickly. “I've expected this from people. I didn't expect it to be you first, but...” He drained his coffee and dropped the cup into the trash can next to his seat. “It doesn't matter anyway. I think it'll be easier if I just...”

“Just...?” she pried gently. When he didn't offer up anything else, her eyebrows shot up past her bangs. “Please tell me you're not thinking of leaving us?”

His silence was taken as confirmation. She manhandled him to face her properly, their knees knocking together.

“Kurt, you can't leave because of something I said.”

“Quinn, oddly enough, not everything revolves around you,” Kurt snapped.

She sat back, stung. “Well, _sorry_ for feeling _guilty._ ”

“Wes didn't alter the date on my contract when I re-signed it,” Kurt said. “In three months, whether the band has a record deal or not, I'll have to decide whether to stay or go.”

“And you're leaving? But... you love working with Mercedes,” Quinn said.

“Quinn, I didn’t say—”

“If you leave the team, you won't have a visa, Kurt!” she hissed. “You'll have to come back here. To New York.”

“I know.”

“You’ll never see Blaine. He’ll be in London with the band. Where he belongs.”

“I know that.”

“Then why would you leave?”

“Because a cushy job with the band doesn't seem worth it, if everyone hates me,” Kurt growled.

“I _don’t hate you_!”

“But you do resent me,” Kurt said. “And no, I’m not saying you’re wrong for feeling that way. If the tables were turned, I probably would have bitched you out behind your back, too. If _you_ think it, what do the people I barely know around here say?”

“They think you’re the little twink sleeping his way to the top,” Quinn said bluntly.

“Ding, ding, ding.”

“So, let me clarify whether I’m hearing this right. You’re considering leaving the life you’ve built with us in the last nine months because some idiots who don’t even know you might be saying mean things behind your back?”

“ _You_ are one of those idiots.”

“No one ever got anywhere in life walking backwards, Kurt.”

The truth of her statement hit him like hail stones on the windshield of a car, and he turned away to avoid looking at her again.

“Look, I used to despise you.”

“Really. I had no idea,” Kurt said sarcastically.

“You swooped in here with your sharp fashion and your bright smile, and everybody loved you immediately,” Quinn continued like he’d never spoken. “You think you had it bad your first month? The guys _hated_ me. I know they were teenagers, but _god_ , they were immature. I spent more than one occasion crying my eyes out because they put gum in my hair or switched my phone to Korean. But I stuck it out because I _needed_ this job. They were so nice to you in comparison,” Quinn said bitterly, eyes on the back of Blaine's curly head of hair. “It was all Kurt this, and Kurt that. Wes didn’t penalize you for shit he’d nailed me for in the past, and I was so mad about the double standard that I took it out on you.”

“Quinn, I didn’t know why you hated me.”

“I know…” She lifted her feet back onto her seat and rested her folded arms over them. “But I don’t anymore. And I don’t think you’re sleeping your way to the top. I’m sorry. I was angry, and didn’t think about what I was saying. Not that it’s an excuse!” she added hastily. “I just… I’m sorry.”

“I know. I do get it, Quinn.”

They were silent for a long time, nothing but the squeak of luggage wheels, the tired shuffles of passengers with a long day ahead of them, and the occasional announcement overhead to distract them from their thoughts.

“I want to make it up to you,” Quinn said after a time.

“You don’t ha—”

“—I know, but…” She licked her lips, green eyes focused on her lap. “You know how I said that I hear more than I should in Wes’ office?”

Kurt nodded, eyes trained on the flight itinerary on his phone. He was not going to give her the satisfaction of knowing he was intrigued.

She looked around the airport lounge to make sure no other passengers were sat in their section, and leaned in close. “You remember that night the paparazzi took photos of you and Blaine outside the hotel?”

Kurt’s eyes snapped up without permission. “…Yeah?”

“I…” She looked around again. Wes was nowhere in sight. “The press shouldn’t have known where we were staying. When they swarm a building, it’s because they’ve been tipped off by someone on the inside.”

She held his eyes meaningfully. His own narrowed in suspicion.

“Are you… are you saying—”

“—I don’t know for sure,” Quinn whispered. “But he and Kitty have taken a _really_ close interest in you and Blaine. Wes changed your contract around that time, right?”

He did.

“Quinn, I’m not sure I like where you’re going with this,” Kurt admitted.

“I’m sorry, Kurt. I could be wrong. Maybe he really does just want you and Blaine to be happy, but… there’s an ulterior motive here. I’m sure of it.”

“If you heard something like this, why are you only telling me now?” He already knew the answer though. Had she not felt guilty, she would have sat on this information until it was useful. “What did you hear?” Kurt hissed.

“I’ve already said too much,” Quinn said skittishly, like she thought Wes was lying under their chairs, waiting to catch her out. “Look, if the last couple days have taught me anything, it’s that he doesn’t give a fuck when his eyes are on the prize. And I think you deserve to know if you’re part of some big plan. Before he drops you into something you’re not prepared for.”

And with that, she squeezed his left arm in hesitant camaraderie and walked away in the direction of some generic Italian eatery. Kurt didn’t realize he was shaking until the buzz of a thousand voices in the JFK terminal suddenly came back into focus around him.

 _She was lying, right?_ He could never tell with Quinn.

* * *

His conversation with Quinn fell to the back of his mind after they’d boarded their flight to the UK, his current relationship issues taking the priority spot. Blaine sat with David, three rows ahead of Kurt, unnaturally quiet and subdued the entire flight. Upon arrival, he only mumbled a quiet thank you when Kurt brought his luggage over from the carousel, before hopping into a cab and leaving the rest of Team Warbler to stare curiously at Kurt, and travel in the cars Canary Records had actually sent for them.

“He went home,” David said to Kurt as they were cruising on the M25 back to Central London.

“He never goes home,” Kurt replied dejectedly.

“Just give him a couple of hours, and drive on over there,” David replied. “My car’s still parked under the hotel. You can borrow it, if you promise to drive on the left?”

Kurt’s lip barely turned up at the joke, and David exhaled through his nose. “Look, whatever’s going on with you guys, it’ll sort itself out.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Nah. He’s never been one to air his dirty laundry,” David said. “Openly check people out? Yes. Flirt shamelessly? All the time. Be openly affectionate with people he adores? It’s a sickness. If he’s having relationship problems though, you don’t know about it until it’s over.”

Somehow, that last statement didn’t feel very reassuring.

* * *

Blaine’s home was, in Kurt’s opinion, unimaginative.

He pulled up to the address David gave him, parked, and stepped out onto the sidewalk to examine the building in all its red bricked, high columned finery. Sure, he was all for a little elegant grandeur, but this building took it to an unnecessary excess. The sheer size and ostentatiousness seemed a direct contradiction to the young man who lived under its roof.

Then again, Blaine had said his brother talked him into this purchase, and he’d shared it with Jeremiah; so it was kind of like a double whammy.

Kurt paused outside the iron gates. Ah. He’d assumed he’d be able to walk right up to the front door, but in retrospect, gates made total sense. On the off chance fortune would be in his favor, he pushed at one gate in the hope it would fall open. It didn’t. Okay… he wasn’t wearing his climbing pants, so he had three options: Fish his phone out of his bag, train a pigeon to carry a note to the house, or find the buzzer. He located it on the wall flanking the left gate, and pressed the button.

 _“What?”_ Blaine’s tired voice sounded from the speaker.

“Uh… hi? Blaine? It’s me.”

_“Kurt? What are— what’re you doing here?”_

“Can we talk?” Blaine didn’t answer. “Please?” Silence again. Kurt stooped lower to better hear the speaker. “Blaine, are you still there? I…I can go if it’s a problem, but I just—”

The gate swung forward to admit him onto the grounds. Kurt mumbled a ‘thank you’ to the intercom and made his way up the path that wound through the luscious front garden. Blaine was already in the entryway waiting for him, arms folded over his chest. Stopping awkwardly before the threshold, Kurt clutched the strap of his bag as if to steady himself.

There were many things he wanted to say, but what came out first was, “I’m a jerk!”

Taken aback, Blaine’s lashes fluttered. He looked warily at the gate, which had locked itself again, and then stood aside to let Kurt pass. Closing the ornate door behind them, Blaine led him through the entrance hall, into his living room. Kurt took it all in with a critical eye. In contrast to the lavish exterior of the home, the furniture looked straight out of the Ikea catalog. If it weren’t for the framed posters from comic book movies, Broadway and West End shows hung around the walls, there would be no character at all to this room. The coffee table had photos of his family and close friends propped up, but other than that it felt like a show room; one Blaine entertained in, but used for little else.

“I’m sorry.”

That word was so present in Kurt’s mind, so ready to fall from his own lips, that it took a moment to realize it wasn’t he who had said it. “What?” he said, surprised.

“I’m sorry I stormed out of your apartment,” Blaine said.

“Blaine, if anyone should be sorry…” Kurt took a tentative step closer.

Blaine shook his head. “I should have stayed and talked it out,” he said. “I shouldn’t have ignored you today. I just… didn’t know how to approach you after I behaved like a spoilt child last night.”

Kurt gawped at his bowed head of curls. “You…you think _I’m_ mad at _you_?”

Blaine looked up at that, Kurt’s confusion mirrored in his honey-glazed eyes. “Well, yeah?”

Kurt covered his mouth with both of his hands and let out an incredulous laugh. This whole day he had been watching Blaine from afar, waiting for a signal to approach him, that he was forgiven, and it turns out Blaine was doing the exact same thing.

“Oh god, we really need to work on this communication thing!” Kurt exclaimed. He sank down onto the couch beside Blaine and rested his fingertips on the back of Blaine’s hand. “I’m not mad at you, baby.”

“You’re not?”

“No! I thought you were mad at me!” Kurt laughed again. “That’s why I haven’t spoken to you all day. I thought you didn’t want to.”

Blaine’s mouth hung open, tension seeping from him like a deflating balloon, and his forehead came to rest on Kurt’s shoulder. “Clearly I’m a little over-sensitive when it comes to you,” he murmured.

“Please don’t be,” Kurt whispered into his hair. “Yesterday was on me, okay? I fucked up. I should’ve just told you what was going on in my head, instead of pushing you away and expecting you to understand what I was doing. Even _I_ don’t know what I’m doing half the time.”

“So what _was_ last night about?” Blaine asked, pulling back to look at Kurt’s face.

Kurt shrugged helplessly. “I’m scared. I’ve been so absorbed in you these last few weeks that I forgot about people outside our immediate group. I know you warned me that people would think I was with you for the perks, but…knowing it could happen in the abstract, and experiencing it firsthand are so different. It’s humiliating, and I just…shutting people out has always been my ‘go-to’ defense strategy.”

“Kurt, I…” Blaine chewed the inside of his cheek. “I get that you don’t want to be too tactile in public. That’s not what upset me yesterday. It’s the fact you brought it home with you. You wouldn’t even let me touch you in _your_ _home_ , Kurt. Away from everyone. My suite I can understand because, yeah, Wes has a habit of walking in unannounced. But I wasn’t trying to initiate sex. I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to just… be with you. Which is really hard to do when the other person is somewhere else in their head.”

“I know,” Kurt groaned. “I’m so sorry I shut you out. I didn’t mean to. I just…”

Blaine pulled Kurt’s hand into his own and squeezed his fingers reassuringly. “I’m scared too, you know. Of messing us up. Promise me you won’t shut me out like that in private again? In public… okay. Tell me if I’m being too obvious. Just…not at home, Kurt.”

“Okay. If you promise to come back if you walk away,” Kurt negotiated. “We can’t sleep on a fight like this again. Prolonging a reunion just makes it worse.”

“Deal,” Blaine agreed.

They fell back into an embrace, their chins finding home in the crooks of one another’s necks, arms tightly wound around the other. And for the first time in two days, Kurt felt the anxiety held in his spine and shoulders melt away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come with you to hear the finished song,” Kurt whispered into Blaine’s ear.

Blaine drew back and kissed Kurt chastely, once, twice, three times, and Kurt knew he was forgiven, but…

“Did you… did you write it?” Kurt asked.

“Yes.”

Kurt’s forehead fell to Blaine’s shoulder again. “Oh, god, I’m the worst boyfriend in the world.”

“No, you’re not,” Blaine chided playfully. “I had this ridiculous notion in my head that if you came with me, your workload wouldn’t feel so bad? Like, the song being so special to me—to _us_ —would make it all better.”

Kurt gaped at the admission.

“I know it’s dumb, now I’ve said it out loud,” Blaine said, avoiding eye contact.

“No, it’s not. It’s not dumb.”

“Come with me?” Blaine said hopefully, unaware of the conga wildly beating in Kurt’s stomach.

“Okay?”

Blaine rose from the couch, and Kurt followed him back into the hallway; they stopped in front of a door like all the others on the opposite side to the living room. A hesitant glance back at Kurt, and Blaine turned the brass handle, standing back to let Kurt inside.

Kurt gasped. The house as a whole lacked personality, but this room made up for it. Duck egg blue walls framed a beautiful music room. A baby grand piano stood to the left of the wide window overlooking Blaine’s now pitch black garden, midnight blue curtains fluttering in a gentle breeze. Kurt took an awed step over the threshold, the intricately patterned wooden floor slipping under his socked toes. To the right of the room a violin, two acoustic guitars, an electric guitar and a saxophone sat in a place of pride, well-kept and ready to play.

“This is the only room in the house I love. The only one Jeremiah never tainted,” Blaine said in Kurt’s ear. “Wherever my new place is, I want a music room to rival this one. Maybe another smaller room attached where I can put awards and certifications.”

“You can’t hang them in here?” Even as Kurt said it, he knew it was a dumb question.

“They’d ruin the acoustics,” Blaine answered, kissing Kurt’s cheek sweetly. “Bare walls are best.”

“It’s beautiful,” Kurt said breathlessly.

Blaine led Kurt to the window seat and retrieved the larger of the two acoustic guitars, made from a warm, rich mahogany.

“It’s probably better this way,” Blaine said, seating himself on the opposite side of the window from Kurt. “I had to adapt the song to suit a duet between a boy and a girl, but when I first played around with chords, humming the melody to myself, it was all just me singing about a boy.”

 _Oh god, this is happening. This is actually happening._ Kurt’s heart was pounding hard, breaths catching in his throat in anticipation.

“I wrote this about you—for you—when I was trying to work out how to be good enough for you,” Blaine continued. He adjusted the tuners of the guitar, the fingers of his other hand strumming the strings at the body to work out how tuneful they were to his trained ear. “I hope you like it.”

Kurt closed his eyes as the opening chords filled the room, Blaine’s calloused fingers plucking out a melody Kurt had heard a hundred times in the recording studio, but never like this—slow, intimate, from the heart.         

“You sit by yourself in the corner,

Sweet smiles mysterious and free,

Your world exists so close to mine,

But remains a puzzle to me.”

 

“You pulled me in with playful grace,

A razor tongue, a fire that licks my wounds,

Someday I’ll earn your warm embrace,

If only I were good enough for you.”

 

“Hurting you is my one regret,

I can’t take back words you won’t forget,

But I know I can be true enough,

True enough for you.”

 

“It cuts through me like a knife,

To know I can't be in your life,

Until I prove that I am true enough,

True enough for you.”

 

“Come sit with me in the corner,

And I’ll paint a picture or two,

Worlds where my words never hurt,

And you’re not afraid of the view.”

 

“I’m gonna give myself that chance,

To mend the shards, the mirror you see through,

Maybe then you’ll realize who I am,

Just a boy who fell, who’s crazy about you.”

 

“Hurting you is my one regret,

I can’t take back words you won’t forget,

But I know I can be true enough,

True enough for you.”

 

“It cuts through me like a knife,

To know I can't be in your life,

Until I prove that I am true enough,

True enough for you.”

 

“I know I can be true enough,

True enough for you.

You know that I am true enough,

True enough for you.”

Blaine looked up nervously as the last note faded to silence, left hand falling to his lap as the other gripped the neck of the guitar for support.

“When did you write this?” Kurt breathed, breaking the silence. “You guys have been taking meetings about this song for months. You can't…this can't be about me.”

“I wrote it a month after I met you,” Blaine said simply.

“A month?” Kurt gasped.

“A month.”

“But... we were barely on speaking terms. You didn't even _know_ me.”

Blaine set his guitar aside and moved closer, framing Kurt’s face with his hands. “I knew that I wanted to,” Blaine said, lips a whisper away. “I knew you were the most stubbornly beautiful person I'd ever met. I knew that I needed to sort myself out. And I knew that if I could just prove how I felt, you would be the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Oh...” Kurt’s right hand covered Blaine’s left hand and guided his palm to his lips.

“I've wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you, Kurt.”

Kurt chuffed a watery laugh. “You wanted to fuck me.”

Blaine didn't contradict his statement. “You told me I was sexually harassing you, and... It was like you turned a mirror on me, forcing me to look the person you saw in the eye; the lecherous pop singer with more money than sense.”

“Baby...”

“I cared about what you thought of me, but I couldn’t work out why until that CD signing in Oxford Street.” A little smile illuminated his face. “You were so striking that day, the way you just ignored the rules, walked up to that line of fans and played photographer. I could barely take my eyes off of you.”

“You hid it well,” Kurt said, eyes on his own hands playing with Blaine’s fingers.

“No I didn't.” Blaine chuckled. “You weren't there for the teasing that followed. The boys thought my crush on you was hilarious.”

“I can imagine,” Kurt said. 

“Do you like it?” Blaine asked. “The song?”

Kurt kissed him tenderly and whispered, “What do you think?”

Blaine returned it just as sweetly, and after two days apart, the gentle caress of lips made Kurt sigh in bliss. Every reason he’d come up with to distance himself from Blaine evaporated, beaten into submission by the tug of Blaine’s teeth on his bottom lip, the slip of his tongue against his own, and the needy whimpers that sent his pulse flying.

“Missed you,” Kurt confessed.

Everything became a little hazy. Kurt couldn’t say when Blaine found his way into his lap, nor could he pinpoint the moment their clothing dropped to the floor. What Kurt did know was that he was determined to make up for the time they’d lost. He scooped Blaine into his arms, laughing as strong thighs wrapped eagerly around his waist, and walked them over to the piano, sloppy kisses pressed to every inch of skin within reach the entire way. 

* * *

“Can I be honest?” Kurt said later, after they’d moved their activities to the upstairs master bedroom. He was still breathless, flushed, and giddy from their creative use of the piano stool in the music room. It had given new meaning to the term ‘joy ride,’ and he suspected he’d never be able to look at one again without thinking of it as a potential sex toy.

“Depends on what about,” Blaine replied softly, as he trailed his fingers up and down Kurt’s naked arm. He was just as breathless as Kurt, eyes half-lidded and sated.

Despite the personal furnace lying next to him, Kurt shivered, the hairs on his arm standing to attention, as if reaching out for Blaine. “I sort of wrote you a song, too,” he murmured.

“A song? Wait, really?”

“Well… okay, maybe not a song, maybe more of a poem.”

Blaine sat up excitedly. “You wrote me a poem?”

He hesitated before clarifying, “…a limerick.” He could feel a wave of giggles threatening to erupt.

“You…can I hear it please?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I can’t promise that.”

“It’s not romantic like your song,” Kurt admitted sheepishly. “It’s kinda…dirty.” He glanced up, somewhat embarrassed, but there was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, of anticipation.

“Mr. Hummel, if you don’t recite my limerick this instant, I will never have sex with you again.”

Kurt snorted in disbelief. “Really? That’s the threat you’re going with? At least make it believable, horn dog.”

The sheet slipped from Blaine’s torso and he turned to face Kurt, entirely naked. He looked so much like an expectant puppy waiting for a squirrel to jump from a tree that Kurt struggled to contain a burst of laughter.

“Okay, okay.” He took a deep breath and recited,

“There was a young man named Blaine,

Whose boyfriend could never restrain,

Himself from taking a bite,

Of that round ass at night,

And sucking his hole like a drain.” 

Blaine howled with delight, knelt up on all fours and wiggled his ass at Kurt. “Well, don’t let me ‘restrain’ you, either!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it was worth the wait. Eeeek!


	31. Roots and Jumps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone still reading, commenting and giving kudos for this story! I've been so pleasantly surprised by the response from you guys.
> 
> And as ever, thank you to my fab betas LadyFiona89 and AncientGleek.

‘How to find an agent in the UK?’

‘How to find an ACTING agent in the UK?’

‘UK acting agencies to avoid?’

‘Recommended UK acting agencies?’

Kurt tapped the first result for his latest query, eyes glued to his phone as he absently followed Blaine, who was inspecting the space around him, from room to room. They had been back in the UK for a week, and so far Kurt’s hunt for the perfect new home for Blaine had been unsuccessful.

“Is that damp on the ceiling?”

“No, Blaine, it’s an interior design choice called marbling.”

“It looks like mold.”

 

“The garden is too small.”

“An acre is too small to you? In _London_?”

 

“I’m not moving here. The kid upstairs just told me this place is haunted.”

“What kid? Blaine, no one lives here.”

“…We’re leaving. Right now!”

Okay, so Kurt had been messing with him on that last house, but could you blame him? He didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for here. Obviously, Blaine wanted a less ostentatious home, and Kurt knew to look for properties on the outskirts of London, but it wasn’t much to go on.

Rolling his eyes when Blaine started muttering to himself about ‘storage space potential’, Kurt trudged downstairs to wait for him in the kitchen and hopped up onto a stool. He leaned his elbows on the table, phone between his fingers, and tried to refocus on his own task, but gave up when he found himself rereading the same sentence for the third time.

He dropped the phone to the table, closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples.

It had started with an email from his lawyer.

\------

Dear Mr. Hummel,

I am writing in reference to the matter between Miss Delgada and yourself and am pleased to confirm that the agreed upon settlement has been completed. This brings the matter to a close. Therefore I shall be closing our file, effective immediately.

Please note, we will retain the papers relating to your claim for a period of six years. Only then will they be confidentially destroyed.

Thank you for your business and do not hesitate to contact me if I can help in the future.

Sincerely,

Regina Jones

\------

Kurt had been so distracted by the third album’s release itinerary, finding Blaine a new home, juggling his regular duties with the wardrobe department, and worrying about the uncertain future of The Warblers that he’d entirely forgotten he was owed a sum of money from Harmony’s record label.

A quick check of his account confirmed that he had indeed been paid. A development that, oddly, didn’t make him the least bit jubilant. It was more money than he ever expected to see—at least until he was much older and firmly ensconced in a career. What was he supposed to do with five hundred thousand dollars? Should he invest it? Give it to charity? Come to think of it, should he be saving it in something in the UK or US? Obviously, it couldn’t stay in his little checking account. Maybe he should be googling financial advisors in addition to agents.

He’d already had a panicked talk with his dad that led to him offering to help pay off his and Carole’s mortgage. Burt had quickly dismissed this, but he did suggest Kurt pay off what remained of his student loans before making any other plans. The only thing Kurt knew for sure was that this money would help him put down roots in the UK. Renting an apartment in London wasn’t a cheap endeavor, but it was a priority now that he had the funds.

Still, that’s not what had his stomach twisting itself into knots. With Team Warbler’s future still hanging in the balance while Wes and the band fought for a better recording contract, he needed to consider the possibility that he might be out of a job by the end of the year. And as Quinn had so eloquently reminded him the week before—

No job meant no visa. No visa meant leaving the country. Leaving the country meant leaving Blaine behind.

Perhaps one day his path would lead him back to New York, but until then, Kurt was determined to make sure that, job with The Warblers or not, he had a solid grounding of his own in London. Mercedes would help him find styling opportunities, of course, but then…

Kurt picked his phone back up and made himself focus on the good and bad acting agency reviews posted online. Still his mind kept going in circles.

Why was he even considering this? Was it realistic to try to forge a path in the theatre in London instead of New York? It seemed as if every other performing arts graduate in London had been trained at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts or somewhere equally prestigious. He was out of his depth, even with his degree from NYADA and meager credits in his résumé.

And yet, there was this voice in the back of his mind, and it sounded an awful lot like the stubborn go-getter Kurt had been in high school, demanding he sit up and pay attention. The version of him that had once been silenced by the brutal honesty of Broadway’s elite was now whispering in his ear, demanding he take a stand and remember—

Kurt Hummel was first and foremost, a performer. No one makes a Hummel feel unworthy of living his dreams.

‘Professional stylist’ may be a role he’s destined to play, but it sure as hell didn’t have to be the only one. He was nothing if not multifaceted. He was not a box; he had more than four sides.

The nearly silent footfalls of someone trying to go unnoticed drew his attention, and suddenly a chin was propped on his shoulder.

“Acting agents, huh?” Blaine muttered.

“Yeah, I’m just looking.” Kurt stowed his phone in his pocket. “What do you think of the house?”

“I don’t know…"

“What’s wrong with this one?” Kurt scooched round on his stool to face Blaine properly.

“It’s nice; don’t get me wrong,” Blaine said, grimacing, “but… it doesn’t have a lot of personality.”

“That’s what decorating is for,” Kurt said, voice level and patient, in direct contrast to the exasperation buried within.

“No, I don’t just want a lick of paint here and there to give the place a personality,” Blaine said, looking around to make sure the realtor was still outside before carding his fingers between Kurt’s and squeezing. “I want the quirks to be in the build of the house, the architecture. I want to be able to picture myself sharing this place with someone.”

Kurt’s heart fluttered at the insinuation. “So…not this house?”

“Could you see _yourself_ living here? Be honest.”

“Well, it’s not my house to pick, but…I guess it wouldn’t be my first choice,” Kurt admitted, squeezing Blaine’s hand grudgingly. “I’ll talk to the realtor again and see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

Blaine helped Kurt down from his stool and gave him a peck on the lips.

Kurt returned the kiss, awkwardly through his smile, but his eyes shifted uneasily to the kitchen door. “Public place.”

“No one is here,” Blaine murmured, his grip on Kurt’s waist tightening. “Just one more.” Kiss. “Two more.” Kiss, kiss.

Kurt had to turn his head away from the last, knowing where this was headed (he was not having sexual intercourse, oral or otherwise, in a stranger’s home) and giggled breathlessly when Blaine pressed tiny kisses to his cheek and jaw instead.

“You’re incorrigible.”

One more rebellious kiss for the road and Blaine led the way out to the front yard, where the realtor was stood waiting for them to finish up. A shake of the head was all she needed to cross the property off her list, and she promised to send over a new list of potential properties; then the two hopped into Blaine’s Audi and began the drive back to central London.

“So…” Blaine pursed his lips, eyes focused on the road ahead as he navigated across a busy junction. “Acting, huh?”

Kurt slumped down in the front passenger seat; he should have known Blaine wouldn’t let it go. “It’s nothing. I was just passing time.”

“Googling little known facts about royalty passes the time. People searching for acting agents do so with a purpose in mind,” Blaine pointed out. When Kurt didn’t offer up an explanation, he continued, “Does this have anything to do with Rachel opening her show this week?”

“No…yes…I don’t know; I was just curious.”

“Because you want to give it another shot…?” Blaine fished.

“Blaine.”

“Kurt.”

“Why are you being so nosy?” Kurt griped.

“Why are you trying to minimize this?” Blaine asked.

“Why are you being so picky about a house?” Kurt countered.

“Because it takes my mind off Warbler drama,” Blaine brushed off. “Your turn.”

“Baby, everything will work out there,” Kurt said. “The label will cave.”

“Well, they’re taking their sweet time about it,” Blaine huffed. “Sebastian says his father was ranting at dinner last week about reducing the budget for promoting our album. Apparently he’d rather flop our record and make it harder for us to bargain with him than make a profit now and admit he’s a controlling arse wipe.”

“That makes no sense,” Kurt said. “Are you sure Sebastian wasn’t just making that up?”

“Positive.” Blaine side-eyed him when they slowed to queue at a roundabout. “You’re not getting away with changing the subject, by the way.”

Kurt groaned his exasperation. “Drop it, Blaine. Please.”

Blaine chanced a look at him once he’d maneuvered them across the roundabout, and sighed heavily. “You know everyone would be okay with you leaving if that’s what you really want, right?” he ventured timidly. “Wes, Mercedes, the boys. None of us would hold it against you.”

A harsh breath shuddered out of Kurt. Blaine smiled tightly and reached across to squeeze his hand.

“You don’t know that,” Kurt whispered.

“I do, because I’m one of them.”

“You’re biased,” Kurt whispered. “Look, if things don’t go our way with Canary Records, I’ll need another job. And I know Mercedes will help me continue my internship, but I look at everyone I know going out there and making their dreams come true, and I just…I can’t help feeling like maybe I gave up too easily. Like, styling should be my hobby and performing should be my profession. Not the other way around.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, start auditioning again.”

“You think I should?”

“I think the only person holding you back from this is you,” Blaine said simply.

Kurt’s answering smirk was crooked. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

“You’re scared to want your dream and go after it because, if it doesn’t come true, it’ll be that much harder to accept that you can’t have it,” Blaine murmured. “And that would crush you more than never having tried because, at least if you don’t try, you’ll never know how close you came to getting it.”

Kurt gaped at him. “Okay, so maybe you do have me figured out.”

“Only because I felt the same way once.”

“Oh yeah? So what happened?”

“I hurdled the last obstacle and kissed and wooed him until he agreed to be my boyfriend.”

* * *

 **JeffSterlingWarbler:** And that’s a wrap on #WarblersAlbum3. Can’t wait to share it with you guys!

 **OhMyWarblingGod:** @JeffSterlingWarbler Does this mean new songs soon??? #PleaseSayYes #WarblersAlbum3

 **JeffSterlingWarbler:** @OhMyWarblingGod Yes ;)

 **WarblingCanaryLuv:** @JeffSterlingWarbler Pleeeasse can we have a hint? We’re dying here!!! #WarblersAlbum3

 **JeffSterlingWarbler:** @WarblingCanaryLuv The song is very personal to one of our members. It’s #True.

 **BlaineyDaysofSummer:** OMFG GUYS they wrote it!!!

 **WarblingCanaryLuv** : @BlaineyDaysofSummer The hashtag! ‘True’. The name of the song?

 **Klaining &Pouring: **@BlaineyDaysofSummer @WarblingCanaryLuv what if Blaine wrote it for Kurt? #ObnoxiousKlaining #SorryNotSorry

 **BlaineyDaysofSummer:** @Klaining&Pouring @WarblingCanaryLuv *WAILS LIKE A BANSHEE* NO ONE FUCKING TOUCH ME! HOW COULD YOU! FEEEELS!

* * *

“Here we are. One mango and one passion fruit smoothie, and a blueberry muffin,” Adam declared, setting the tray he was holding down on the table.

“Thanks; what do I owe you?” Kurt asked.

“It’s on me,” Adam dismissed. “I’m the one who cancelled on you before you went to LA. What are you looking at?”

“Just some social media stuff for work,” Kurt said absently. “My boss likes me to keep an eye on the fans. Jeff dropped some album hints earlier; so they’re currently losing their shit over that.”

“I phoned Rachel the other day to wish her luck on her opening night, and she said Santana was working with The Warblers,” Adam said conversationally. “Was that your doing?”

“Not really,” Kurt said between sips. “The boys liked her voice on some of my old videos. She shot her part of the video on the beach in Santa Monica yesterday, but it’s being kept under wraps for now, so keep your mouth zipped.”

“I won’t breathe a word.” Adam mimed zipping his mouth shut. “I suppose album talk beats the usual routine of speculating over their private lives...”

Kurt glanced up at the odd turn of subject. “I don’t really pay too much attention to that part,” he said with a nonchalant shrug.

“You should.”

Kurt set aside his tablet and gave Adam the attention he was angling for. “You’ve been looking?”

“I have a Twitter account,” Adam replied, an edge to his voice. “Which you’re still not following me on, by the way.”

It took all of Kurt’s restraint not to roll his eyes. “I don’t go on my account anymore.”

Which is true. When the media had splashed his identity all over the internet, he’d locked down his social media accounts. And he’d been avoiding logging on ever since, scared of the volume of direct messages, friend and follow requests from prying strangers.

“There’s a group of Warblers fans who think you and Blaine are...” Adam’s eyes darted between their plastic cups, shoulders hunched.

“Going steady?” Kurt said drolly.

Adam chuckled and sat back in his seat with a smile. “I was hoping it was bullshit.”

“Why do you say that?” Kurt asked.

“Well, it’s _Blaine Anderson_.” Adam waved him off. “From what I’ve heard about him, he’s not exactly boyfriend material. God knows where it’s been.”

Kurt’s mouth hung loose in disbelief. Did he just refer to Blaine as a _thing_? “And where did this intel come from, exactly?” he asked coldly. “And if you say Jeremiah Flynn, I’m marching you out of this cafe and dumping my smoothie on your head.”

Adam, startled by the sudden change of mood, spluttered, “Yes, it was Jeremiah, but that’s no reason to bite my head off.”

“Since when are you and that jackass so tight?” Kurt continued.

“He’s my co-star.”

“He tried to assault me in a bathroom!”

“You’re the one who told me not to confront him about that,” Adam hissed back. “I still have to work with him. If what Jeremiah’s told me about Blaine is even half true though, you’d do well to steer clear.”

“Just because I told you not to confront him about it doesn’t excuse his behavior or make him any less of a douchebag! Blaine’s never _forced_ himself on me.”

“No, he just cons money out of his boyfriends and doesn’t pay them back.”

“Cons them? _That_ ’s what he’s telling people?”

“Yes, because that’s what happened.”

“Really?” Kurt spat. “That’s the truth, is it? The whole truth?”

“Don’t patronize me, Kurt. Just because your little boyfriend—friend—whatever the fuck he is—hasn’t let you in on his secrets—”

“—When did I say I wasn’t aware of the situation you’re talking about?” Kurt demanded. “I know _exactly_ what happened between Blaine and Jeremiah. I’m just inclined to believe Blaine’s version over whatever horseshit _Jeremiah_ dreamed up. You actually believe a 27 year old man, who is used to using whatever means necessary to get what he wants, was conned by a _teenager_? It doesn’t occur to you that the abuse in that relationship could have been the other way round?”

It was clear from the look on Adam’s face that he hadn’t.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought!” Kurt growled, pushing his smoothie away.

“It’s true then…” Adam trailed off. “He really did get to you. I thought I might stand a chance if...”

“The chance of _what_?” Kurt snapped.

“You _are_ with Anderson, aren’t you?”

Kurt couldn’t believe this shit. He wanted so much to say yes. Not just to smack Adam upside the head figuratively speaking, but to make him understand, once and for all, that their old flame was never going to reignite. He took a deep breath; he couldn’t risk Blaine’s relationship status getting back to Jeremiah. Not before Blaine was ready to disclose that information himself.

“No. There’s nothing between Blaine and me.” The words were as heavy as iron on his tongue. “But he’s not a bad person, and I’m sick and tired of setting people straight about him because they believe everything they read. Or in your case, everything his bitter ex-boyfriend says.”

Adam looked suitably chastised when Kurt turned his gaze on him, sharp and accusing.

“Please stop being so damned gullible!” Kurt added for good measure.

“You were photographed coming out of Blaine and Jeremiah’s old home last week,” Adam prodded.

Wow! Adam really had nothing better to do than stalk Kurt online.

“I’m his assistant,” Kurt replied, with a dismissive finger flutter. “I go to David’s, Jeff’s and Nick’s places, too, but I don’t see you accusing me of dating _them_.”

“Alright, fine. Sorry I brought it up.”

They were quiet for some time, not looking at each other while awkwardly sipping their smoothies. Kurt was positively seething. Who the hell did Adam think he was, trying to turn him against Blaine with the blatant lies that abusive asshole was spreading? It was absurd. Trying to regain some semblance of calm, Kurt was biding his time to make his excuses to leave, when a thought struck him.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, hoping he could nonchalantly divert Adam’s attention away from the topic of Blaine while simultaneously acquiring some useful information.

Adam made a noncommittal grunt around his straw to show he was listening.

“If I wanted to start auditioning again, how would I find representation here?”

Adam’s eyebrows jumped up in surprise. “You’re going to give it a go?”

“Maybe,” Kurt admitted. “I mean, Broadway hasn’t worked out for me, but…maybe that’s because I’m supposed to be somewhere else.”

“Like the West End?” Kurt shrugged, and Adam lounged back in his chair, grinning across at Kurt as if their earlier argument hadn’t occurred. “What’s brought this on?”

“I dunno, I just…” Kurt nibbled his bottom lip. No need to delve too deep here. “I think I gave up too easily before. I let rejection in New York break my confidence. But I’ve had a fresh start and, I’m ready to chase my original dream again.”

“That’s amazing, Kurt.” Adam’s hand settled over the back of Kurt’s. “You could really kick arse over here.”

“Thanks.” Kurt subtly took his hand back.

“And as far as agents go, there are plenty out there,” Adam continued. “Don’t use mine though. We’d end up at the same auditions and, frankly, I can’t compete with you.”

Kurt snorted. How true.

“How about I email you the list I went through when I moved back here?”

“That would be really great.” Kurt rose, glad to end things on a less adversarial note, even if he was still disgusted by Adam’s comments, and not likely to forget them anytime soon. “Listen, I have to run. Long story short, Jeff forgot his sister’s birthday and needs me to buy her a present.”

“That’s the blonde one, right?”

“It is. See you around.”

“Sure…see you.”

Kurt directed a sad last smile and wave Adam’s way before leaving the café because he knew this was the last time he would initiate contact with him. It wouldn’t be right to see him again now that he knew Adam’s loyalties had shifted for the worst.

A sudden movement and brief reflection across the street caught Kurt’s attention as he left the café. He looked over just in time to see a man lower a camera with an obviously high-powered telephoto lens, trying to conceal the fact that he’d been shooting directly at the café. Kurt quickly pulled his phone out of his bag and sent off a quick text.

 **Kurt (13:37):** Pap was outside café taking pictures of me with Adam.

 **Blaine (13:39):** Was he there for Adam?

 **Kurt (13:40):** I think so? He is an actor…

 **Blaine (13:41)** Fuck. OK. So…don’t freak out if they look bad?

 **Kurt (13:42):** Please!!!

 **Blaine (13:43):** I trust you :)


	32. Ultimatum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the delay. I had intended to get this chapter out before I disappeared to New York for a week to see Darren in Hedwig, but that didn't happen. So here we are. Hopefully the next chapter will be out a lot quicker because I was writing it while I waited for my beta, AncientGleek's, edits. Thank you for all of your comments as ever. They are so encouraging.

**Heat Magazine:**

**_Adam Crawford dating Blaine Anderson’s rumored beau?_ **

_What is Adam Crawford doing with Blaine Anderson's man? Read on for all the gossip!_

_Adam Crawford may be gearing up for his final month as Lancelot in the West End production of Spamalot, but he took time away from rehearsals yesterday to grab a smoothie with Warblers PA, Kurt Hummel._

_Paps caught the pair in intimate conversation at a small café in central London. And while you don’t have to take our word for it (see the photos for yourselves), the pair looked extremely cozy!_

_Recognize Adam’s companion? Kurt has been everywhere this summer with Warblers front man, Blaine Anderson. Rumor has it there’s more than a spark between our favorite pop hunk and the hired help. Which makes these snaps of Kurt holding hands with Adam Crawford super awkward…_

_A representative for Crawford had this to say:_

_“The invasive pictures taken of my client and Mr. Hummel show nothing more than two old friends catching up. The pair attended the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts together and, while they did briefly date, they are no longer a couple.”_

_Hmmm, are we convinced? If I were Anderson, I’d want Hummel groveling at my feet!_

_Kurt Hummel: Two-timing opportunist?_

* * *

“Oh, there’s an opportunist in this scenario, lady, but it’s not me!” Kurt spat.

Mercedes looked up from the invoices she and Kurt had been examining before Rachel had sent the article into his inbox. She dropped her pen to the desk.

“Kurt…”

“Who the hell does she think she is?" Kurt continued, ignoring her. "Since when are hits on an article more important than common decency and _real_ journalism?”

“Girl’s gotta eat, I guess,” Mercedes said unhelpfully.

“And don’t get me started on Adam. Why send out a statement for this? If he’d just ignored it, no one would have cared! This makes us look guilty of something!”

“Kurt, you’ve got to calm down.”

“Calm down? You expect me to calm down when they’re calling me a social climbing man whore?”

“In a relationship that hasn't even been confirmed,” Mercedes replied evenly. “They're scrabbling for something to write on a no-news day. Blaine knows the pictures aren’t what they look like. So stop stomping up and down and help me lift this box if you're not going to help me fill out these invoices.”

“So you admit they look bad?” Kurt bent at the knees to lift the cardboard box Mercedes pointed out, and dumped it unceremoniously onto the table.

Mercedes glared at him disapprovingly. “Now you're just putting words into my mouth,” she scolded. “ _And_ taking your anger out on the merchandise. Now I'm not going to tell you again. Calm. Down.”

Kurt had a retort ready, but one look at her—nostrils flared, both hands on her hips—made him think better of it and take a deep breath.

“Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” she quipped. “Now look, you said you warned him about the photographer, right?”

“Yes?”

“So stop worrying. They do this kind of thing to Blaine all the time, and Kitty handles it. If anything, this article will reinforce his trust in you because you told him you were being snapped unawares. Why would a guilty person do that?”

Kurt gripped the work bench with both hands and hung his head. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. “Sorry I keep yelling,” he said. “I just…everything’s so fragile for Blaine and me; I feel like all it’s going to take is one tug on the wrong seam to unravel us.”

He sat himself beside Mercedes and leaned his head on her shoulder. She wrapped both her arms around him and pulled him in tighter.

“That boy’s dealt with worse," she whispered. "And he’s crazy about you. Have a little faith.”

“I was going to take him on a date tonight,” Kurt mumbled. “A proper one. We haven't really had one since...just nights in my loft, his hotel room, my hotel room, his house. Wes gave me the number for this discreet restaurant, and I’ve booked the private room in the back.”

“You can still go.”

Kurt sat up and shook his head. “Not after this.”

“Yes, after this,” she contradicted. “Kurt, we live in the age of social media. News comes and goes fast, but these kinds of articles will be there for as long as you two are in this industry. So why let it ruin your night? Go out and be a couple. I'm sure whatever Smythe’s saying in today’s meeting ain't pretty. Blaine's gonna need to unwind.”

“Speaking of which, I better get back,” Kurt said, checking the time on his phone. There were 15 unanswered text messages, but he ignored them. No doubt they were all Rachel demanding answers. “I have to make it back to the conference room before they leave, or Trent and Jeff will chew my fingers off trying to take their phones back.”

“Sure thing, baby boy. We're done for the day anyway.”

* * *

“GIMME, GIMME, GIMME!” Jeff exclaimed, practically falling out of the conference room.

Confiscating the Warblers’ phones during meetings was a common practice, but their ‘withdrawal’ symptoms were seriously over the top at times. Kurt shared a roll of the eyes with Blaine as Jeff snatched his phone from Kurt’s grasp and ran to catch up with Nick and Trent, leaving Kurt to give the last one back to his favorite Warbler.

“Is Smythe gone?” he whispered.

Wes was the last to exit the conference room. He nodded a greeting to Kurt as he passed, leaving the pair alone in the hallway.

“Thankfully,” Blaine murmured. Sighing, he kept his eyes to the floor, scuffing random patterns with his boot.

Kurt startled when the peck he’d intended for Blaine’s lips was unexpectedly and fervently returned, Blaine deepening the kiss, pressing in hard, his tongue hungrily lapping at Kurt’s. Not that Kurt was opposed—he was slowly loosening up, and it _was_ the end of the work day—but there was a frustration simmering beneath the surface here, and Kurt could only grip Blaine’s shirt and offer what little comfort he could until the need for air prevailed.

Pulling back, Kurt searched Blaine’s face worriedly. “What’s wrong?” he asked. He kept one hand to Blaine’s chest while he played with the curls behind his left ear with the other.

Blaine shook his head. “Nothing. I just…needed to kiss you.”

Kurt hummed into another kiss, gentler than the last, but his face took on a more serious demeanor as he peered more closely at Blaine, who wouldn’t meet his eyes; instead, he buried his nose into the crook of Kurt’s neck. Had Blaine seen the pictures? Was this his reaction to them? Or was something unrelated troubling him?”

“You sure you’re okay? Whatever it is, you can tell me,” he added softly.

Blaine shook his head. “Not here.”

“Okay.” Kurt could accept his need to brood. “Are we done for the day? How about, I take you back to the hotel and we can go out for a nice change? We haven’t really done that.”

A ghost of Blaine’s normal smile eased some of Kurt’s concern.

“Sounds perfect. Wait here; I just need to grab my stuff, and I’ll be right with you,” Blaine said. He squeezed Kurt’s arm and headed down the hall.

Kurt chewed on his bottom lip, watching Blaine go, until he felt a familiar presence lean up against the wall beside him.

“So…a little birdie told me you’re thinking about auditioning for acting gigs,” David said.

“Would that birdie’s name be Blaine?” Kurt said wryly.

“It would, indeed. How’s that going?”

“It’s not really going. My friend—actually he’s not my friend so much, anymore—he sent me a list of acting agents he knows, but I’ve called five so far and three of them won’t take new clients until the new year, and the other two didn’t seem all that great over the phone.”

“I might actually be able to help you there,” David said. Kurt leaned on the wall beside him, eyebrows raised in question. “Remember my girlfriend, Tina?”

“Of course I remember Tina. I talk to her like, three times a day when your phone is confiscated for meetings. She wants her exfoliating mitt back, by the way.”

“For god’s sake. I told her—it was growing mold; so I chucked it in the washing machine!”

Kurt laughed. “What can Tina help me with, David?”

“Right. She works as a talent agent and has just gone freelance. She’s on the lookout for fresh talent to represent.”

“Wait, she’s an _acting_ agent?”

“Yes?”

“Oh my god, I thought she was a real estate agent!” Kurt cried, hand over his mouth. “No wonder she acted so weird when I asked her help with finding Blaine a home.”

David chuckled, eyes dancing with amusement. “Want me to set you up a meeting with her?”

“Yes, please. And stop laughing at me.”

It only made David laugh harder. Kurt kicked his shin.

“How _is_ the house hunt going?” David asked.

Kurt’s top lip curled in response. “Impossible. I can’t find everything he’s looking for. He wants a place with more than an acre of grounds, but a modest building with quirks in the architecture. He wants a music room to overlook the garden, and a small room next door to put his awards and posters. And he wants at least three bedrooms and an office and a dining room and a kitchen you don’t feel squeezed into. And if I can get a house with a spiral staircase, even better.”

“So, basically he wants a house that reminds him of his parent’s place,” David mused.

“His parent’s house?”

“The one in Surrey. He lived there when they sent him to Dalton and moved to Italy. He slept in the dorms with us a lot of the time, but he spent weekends and holidays at the house. It’s the closest thing he really knows to a—”

“—cozy home,” Kurt finished for him. “Do you have a picture of it?”

“I think Trent might. He used to crash there a lot on weekends because Wales was too far to travel back and forth from Dalton.”

“Okay, I’ll ask him. I’m not sure I’ll ever find what Blaine’s looking for though.”

“You will,” David assured him.

Kurt scoffed.

“Kurt, so long as the place feels like a home and _you_ like it, he’ll buy it.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

“No, really," David insisted. "You know why Blaine’s asking _you_ to look for the house, right?”

“Because it’s my job to run errands?”

David studied him a moment. “You know, for an intelligent man, you can be really fucking dense. He wants whatever house he buys for his home to be a home for you too, idiot.”

“He…he does?”

“Well, yeah? You’re the farthest away from home of all of us. Even Quinn and Puck have a place here in London.”

“He wants…I…” Kurt ran the fingers of his left hand over his right self-consciously. “Are you saying he wants me to move in with him?” he almost whispered.

The panic pulsing through Kurt must have been readable on his face because David stepped forward and clapped him on the shoulder, smiling.

“I think part of it is he wants you to know you’ll have somewhere to crash when you need to get away from the crazy. But I also think he wants you to know that, wherever you end up, you have a home with him,” David amended. “If and when you take that step is up to you guys.”

* * *

Kurt paused outside Blaine’s hotel room to adjust his tie. He was nervous. Why was he so nervous? They had already spent several amazing nights together over the last six weeks.

It was just a little dinner at a nice restaurant. No pressure.

With a deep, grounding breath, Kurt knocked three times. His breath caught when the door swung open to reveal a gently smiling Blaine. His hair had been loosely styled; not quite the gelled helmet Sugar gave him for Warbler events, but his curls were tamed, smoothed back into dapper waves. His navy blue suit jacket was tailored perfectly to his tiny waist, the bow tie, a rich red, nestled in his collar.

He was gorgeous.

“Hey,” Blaine said, eyes scanning every inch of Kurt. “Come here.”

Kurt feared that if he stepped over the threshold, they wouldn’t leave, but he shut the door behind him regardless and was quickly but gently pressed back into it. Blaine’s kisses were tender, free of the fire from earlier, but Kurt could still feel that underlying desperation, as if Blaine needed to take…and Kurt was more than happy to give.

“Where are we going?” Blaine murmured, lips skimming the apples of Kurt’s cheeks.

“To a restaurant Wes recommended,” Kurt replied, breathing heavily. “We have a reservation at eight. Noah’s made sure the car’s round the back so we can sneak out of the hotel.”

“Lead the way then,” Blaine said, releasing Kurt from his embrace and slowly stepping back.

Kurt took Blaine’s hand in his and led the way into the elevator across the hall from the suite. Nobody entered on their way down; so for a blissful minute it was just them, holding hands on a date, like a regular couple. The doors dinged, opening to the lobby, and Kurt let go of Blaine’s hand, instead guiding him through a side door by the small of his back.

Puck stood waiting for them.

“Sup, bro,” he said, pounding Blaine in the fist and throwing a wink at Kurt.

There was a black BMW X5 with darkly tinted windows parked in the service yard behind the hotel. Puck opened the car door for them and, once they were inside, slapped the top of the car to signal the driver to go.

“I figured we could abuse the hospitality of the label for one night,” Kurt joked.

“Hmmm…while it lasts,” Blaine mumbled.

The traffic in central London was less congested than usual, and the ride to the restaurant went smoothly. Kurt held Blaine’s hand the whole way, until they arrived at L’Anima in Soho with six minutes to spare. They were welcomed to the restaurant by a man who led them discreetly from the main dining area to a private parlor in the back, away from curious eyes.

“This is fancy,” Blaine commented, sitting across from Kurt at the elegantly laid table. Their napkins, perched on their side plates, were folded into butterflies.

The man who had escorted them into the room bowed slightly as he backed out of the room; he was immediately replaced by a young waiter armed with their menus.

“Good evening Mr. Hummel, Mr. Anderson,” he greeted. “My name is Marco, and I will be your server for this evening. Is there anything I can get you to drink, or would you like a few minutes?”

“A bottle of Prosecco* would be lovely, please, Marco,” Kurt said graciously.

Marco bowed his head. “Very good, sir.”

He bustled away, only returning to place two glasses of iced water between them.

“I thought it would be fun to go out for once,” Kurt admitted after the waiter had left again. “Not that I don’t love staying in to watch crappy reality shows with you.”

“It is,” Blaine agreed softly.

“Blaine, are you okay?” Kurt asked. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

“It just wasn’t a great day,” Blaine dismissed, eyes on his menu. “I think I might try the gnocchi.”

“Blaine…?”

“Kurt, I just want to spend time with you. Can we do that for a couple of hours, without work bullshit getting in the way?” Blaine pleaded.

Kurt nodded. “Okay. Sorry.”

He kept his word for the first two courses. The pair shared a delicious appetizer platter before enjoying their separate main courses—gnocchi for Blaine, shrimp pasta for Kurt. They conversed quietly, hands laced over the table as they ate. The first bottle of Prosecco was followed by another, and Kurt sighed happily as Marco cleared their plates and took their dessert orders.

Blaine’s eyes were a beautiful kaleidoscope of color in the flickering candlelight. And yet, the carefree twinkle was missing—the one Kurt prided himself for putting there the day their lips touched for the first time. When Marco set down their desserts and left, Kurt could hold his tongue no longer.

“Blaine, please talk to me,” Kurt said. He set both their wine glasses aside and took Blaine’s hand over the table. “You don’t have to hold this stuff in with me.”

“I know that,” Blaine said sharply, but gentled his voice as Kurt pursed his lips. “I know. I just…I don’t know where to start.”

“Is this about the pictures of me with Adam?” Kurt asked timidly.

“No,” Blaine replied quickly; actually seeming a little bemused by the question.

“Are you sure? I know they don’t look good. And the article that accompanied them; I wouldn’t blame you for doubting me.”

“Kurt, look at me,” Blaine murmured. Kurt met his soft hazel eyes hesitantly. “That photographer was hired specifically for that job.”

“I…by whom?”

Blaine worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “Well, I can’t prove it, but…” His eyes darted to Kurt’s warily. “His people issued a statement pretty damn quickly; so my guess would be the person with you in the photos.”

Kurt’s mouth parted in realization, eyes squeezing shut.

“He’s finishing _Spamalot_ soon, according to the rag that published them,” Blaine continued.

Kurt nodded, looking down at the table. “So he made himself relevant by being photographed with the person rumored to be dating _you._ ”

Why was he even surprised by this shit anymore? Ambition always trumped friendship, right?

“Kurt, it might not be like that,” Blaine said. “I’ve been backstabbed by a lot of people I thought I could trust, and maybe sometimes I’m kind of cynical. I could be way out of line here.”

Kurt swallowed thickly.

“You okay?” Blaine continued. “I’m sorry if I overstepped. I know he’s your friend—”

“—you didn’t overstep,” Kurt interrupted. “Adam and I kind of fell out anyway. I’d already decided to distance myself from him. This just confirms I’m doing the right thing.”

Kurt ducked his head away from Blaine’s searching gaze.

“Kitty demanded full access to the pictures when the story broke,” Blaine murmured.

“Why?”

“Damage control. She showed them to me earlier—I think she thought I’d be upset about them— and Kurt? The pictures leading up to the hand holding…I can honestly say I’m not worried.”

Blaine placed Kurt’s hand over his own, setting the stage for his parody of Kurt and Adam. He straightened his back, crossed one leg over the other and lifted his chin in an uncanny imitation of Kurt. He then wrinkled his nose, slipped his hand out from under ‘Adam’s hand’ and wiped it on the tablecloth, pausing between each movement to convey a series of rapidly taken photographs. Kurt couldn’t help himself; he laughed, high and helplessly, pressing both hands over his mouth.

“If that’s cheating, you’re really shitty at it.” Blaine winked.

Regaining some semblance of self-control, Kurt grinned at his lap and took Blaine’s hand back in his. This was the only hand he wanted to touch. “Okay. So if it wasn’t the pictures, it was…?”

Blaine was quiet for some time, allowing the swipes of Kurt’s thumb on his knuckles to sooth him, while he thought over his answer.

“Jonathan Smythe is a fucking asshole,” Blaine replied eventually.

“What happened?”

“Kurt, I really don’t want to ruin our date—”

“Blaine. What happened?” Kurt said firmly.

Blaine swallowed, eyes on the napkin draped over his lap. “…I think we’re going to lose the war with the label. He knows it’s us spreading rumors about a rift and he’s…pissed.”

“He knows for sure?”

“Okay, so he can’t prove it, but he _knows_. And the way he talked to me and Nick about writing under a penname on the sly? He didn’t bring it up in New York; so I thought he was letting it go, but I guess he just didn’t want to say anything in front of Santana because he laid into us today.”

“Because you wrote songs?”

“Because we lied about them. Because we _proved_ they were ignoring songs with our names credited. Because we made him look like a tool,” Blaine growled. “And he was horrible to Jeff.”

“Why?”

“That tweet from his account about your song? The hint that I wrote it? Apparently that ‘wasn’t an approved action’. Which is bullshit because Kitty sent that tweet out. She’s got all our log-ins and uses Tweet Deck to post for us; so how is that Jeff’s problem?”

“Didn’t Kitty correct him?”

Blaine’s answering laugh was cold, devoid of humor. “What’s the point when Smythe’s busy giving us an ultimatum?”

Kurt squeezed his hand. “…Let’s hear it.”

“Because we _‘defied the terms of our contract’_ and submitted songs under a penname _‘willfully deceiving the people working their arses off to give you a career’_.” Blaine sneered through his impression of Jonathan Smythe. “We don’t have much in the way of options.”

“What do you mean?”

“He is willing to let us off for the contract violation and credit us for the songs we wrote for the album.”

“But that’s great!”

“Hold on, I’m not done,” Blaine held a finger up, and Kurt sat back, apprehensive. “He will do this on the condition we sign a contract for another three albums and accept every condition dictated to us.”

“And what are the conditions?” Kurt whispered.

“I—we basically wouldn’t have any say. Not in our image, in who we’re seen with, in the songs we sing. We’d be able to write them, but unless the label gives the go ahead, we can’t record them. And why even bother writing them? They won’t belong to us anyway!”

“I don’t understand?”

“By signing this new contract we’ll be signing away our rights to every song we write in that time. We won’t even be able to sell them to artists from other labels. Just the people Canary Records chooses. Three fucking albums, and we’ll be held accountable for years after.”

“They can’t do that!”

“They can if we do what he wants and sign. If we refuse, we’ll lose the rights to the songs we wrote for this album and be dropped by the label. And here’s the kicker; Smythe claims the label owns the name of our band.”

“The Warblers?” Kurt asked incredulously.

“Yeah. Our lawyer’s looking into it, but if it’s true…Kurt, we’re _fucked_!”

“So your choice is freedom at a very high price or a gilded cage?” Kurt summed up hotly.

“We’ll be finished.” Blaine hung his head.

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“No,” Kurt repeated. Dragging his seat around the table so he was seated next to Blaine, he gripped the lapels of Blaine’s jacket and locked his eyes with his.  “No, you’re not finished. You said yourself you could find another record deal. A better one. The whole point of that PR stunt was to prove your popularity and grab the attention of other labels.”

“Yeah, but who are we kidding?” Blaine said.

“They’re not getting away with this,” Kurt replied fiercely. “If you guys want to still be a band, other labels will jump at the chance, okay? If you guys want to still be The Warblers, we will fight for the name. We’ll make sure your songs stay your own. And if none of the offers you receive are good enough, we’ll find another way.”

Blaine’s eyes were lined with unshed tears. “It’s not that simple, Kurt.”

“I know it’s not, baby. But sometimes we’ve got to make our own luck, right? That’s why I’m auditioning again. That’s why we’re going to work together and tackle this…this setback.”

Blaine chuffed an incredulous laugh. “Just a setback?”

“Yes. That’s what it is. And we’ve dealt with plenty of those. What’s a few more? I’ll be with you every step of the way. Okay?”

Blaine sniffled in response. Molten eyes traced every contour of Kurt’s face, the corner of his lips turning up softly.

“What?” Kurt asked, rubbing at the back of his neck. The heat of Blaine’s gaze was warming him from head to pedicured toes.

“Nothing, I just…” Blaine paused and then, taking a deep breath, he continued, “Kurt, I lo—”

“Pardon me, Mr. Anderson? Mr. Hummel?” Marco was back, looking between them anxiously. “I apologize for the interruption, sirs. It’s just…there is a complication outside.”

“Complication?” Blaine asked.

“It seems you were followed tonight, Mr. Anderson. The press are outside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The legal drinking age in the UK is 18. Blaine is 19.


	33. The Paparazzi Trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and comments! I just received my 500th kudos, which was unexpected and amazing. So in that spirit, I would like to give a humongous kudos to my betas AncientGleek and LadyFiona89.

“Noah and Quinn are on their way,” Kurt said, swiping at his phone’s screen and slipping it back inside his jacket.

“Quinn, too? We only need Puck to keep people back,” Blaine said, confused.

“Yes, but it’ll be a little conspicuous if he walks into the restaurant alone and comes back out with you _and_ me,” Kurt replied. “If they can sneak into the building through the back, Quinn says we can make it look like the four of us were out for dinner together.”

“Like a double date?”

“Like a dinner between _colleagues_.”

“Oh…that’s good. Quinn came up with that?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that like it’s a surprise,” Kurt said tersely. “She’s smarter than anyone gives her credit for. And she’s doing us a favor. So play nice, Blaine.”

“Alright, sorry.” Blaine held his hands up in defeat. “I forgot you’re all chummy with her now.” Blaine paced up and down with his hands linked behind his head. “How the hell did they find out we’re here? We were so careful.”

“I don’t know,” Kurt groaned. “Everything went as it should have. The car was around the back, and Noah made sure no one saw us leave. I made sure our reservation was under _my_ name, not yours. Wes said you guys have never had a problem with this place bef…”

“ _The press shouldn’t have known where we were staying. When they swarm a building, it’s because they’ve been tipped off by someone on the inside,_ ” Quinn’s voice whispered in his ear.

Kurt lowered himself onto his chair, bottom lip between his teeth. Their dessert plates had long since been cleared away, the romantic mood snuffed out like a candle.

The obvious suspects were the restaurant’s staff. He pondered this silently. Would they risk losing Blaine’s business for a quick buck? No…this establishment had always been discreet.

Which meant the ‘someone on the inside’ was from somewhere else. _Where_ though? Not Noah, surely? Kurt scoffed at the thought. He had more than earned the band’s trust over the years. Kurt told Mercedes about the date, but not the name of the restaurant. God, he felt awful even entertaining _that_ notion; of course she wouldn’t betray them! Noah would vouch for Quinn not being involved. And anyway, why would she have warned him about what she overheard Wes and Kitty discussing if she…

“ _…He and Kitty have taken a_ _really_ _close interest in you and Blaine…_ ”

Kurt sat up and gasped. “No…”

Blaine whipped around at the sound. Kurt turned away to disguise the epiphany written all over his face.

“Kurt? You okay?” Blaine asked, taking a hesitant step forward.

“ _…there’s an ulterior motive here. I’m sure of it_.”

“Yes.” Kurt cringed; his voice sounded unnaturally high even to him. “I just…can’t believe this is happening.”

Blaine edged closer, eyebrows drawn together in his concern. Before he could speak up though, the door swung open and Marco entered, followed closely by the man who had greeted them at the start of the evening. His name was Joe, Kurt recalled.

“Gentlemen, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting so long. We were assessing the situation outside. Is there anything we can do for you?” Joe asked.

“A time turner would be nice,” Blaine mumbled.

“Actually, yes, thank you,” Kurt said, mind snapping straight back into work mode. “Two members of Mr. Anderson’s team—his head of security and his manager’s assistant—will be arriving to help us. If you could sneak Noah Puckerman and Quinn Fabray into the restaurant unnoticed, we’ll be leaving through the front door soon after.”

“Are you sure that’s wise, sir?” Joe asked. “At our last count there were at least twenty photographers outside. And they’re attracting a crowd of pedestrians.”

“They already know I’m here,” came Blaine’s bitter reply. “May as well give them the show they want. Just think of it as publicity for you guys.”

“Blaine!” Kurt hissed.

Marco visibly flinched at his words, clearly the less experienced of the two in handling unhappy celebrity guests. “W-we’re sorry this has ruined your evening, Mr. Anderson. W-we don’t know h-how word got out—”

“—no, Marco, please, it’s fine. An apology isn’t necessary,” Kurt said, shooting Blaine a look of warning. “Mr. Anderson is just upset about all this. _Right_ , Blaine?”

Blaine looked between Kurt and the two men and nodded. “Yes. Of course. I’m sorry, guys. I don’t mean to take my mood out on you.”

“Its fine, young sir. We’re incredibly embarrassed this has happened,” Joe continued.

“Something tells me it wasn’t the fault of anyone in this building,” Kurt said honestly.

Blaine cocked his head at that, but Kurt had already turned away, fishing his buzzing phone out of his pocket. Wes was calling. Kurt ignored it.

It was another twenty minutes before Quinn and Puck were spirited inside the building. When they entered the private parlor, Blaine was sitting off to one side, stewing, as Kurt settled the check and went over the security protocol with Joe.

“Oh, thank god you’re here!” Kurt exclaimed when he spotted Quinn and Puck. “I’m _so_ _sorry_. I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Don’t sweat it, bro,” Puck said easily. “Wes will fucking skin me if he finds out I let you guys go out unescorted. I’m kinda’ saving my balls here, too.”

“There’s a car waiting down the road for us,” Quinn said.

“He can’t park outside?” Kurt asked.

“It’s a no park zone I’m afraid, Mr. Hummel,” Joe said apologetically.

“Look, we have three options,” Quinn said, ticking them off on her fingers. “We go with the original plan, and the four of us leave together like we’ve been out for dinner together. Or, Noah can escort Blaine down the block to distract the vultures outside, and I can sneak Kurt out the back. Then the car will pick us up from the next street.”

“Wait, you said there were three options,” Kurt said. “That was only two.”

“Well, unless you guys are willing to be seen as a couple, option three is off the table,” Quinn said.

Kurt shared a look with Blaine, who shook his head.

“The first option is less complicated,” Kurt said.

“Good, there’s safety in numbers.” Puck looked around at everyone expectantly. “Let’s do this shit! We’re walking out there in twos. Blaine, you’re with me. You know the drill, man—walk a step behind me. If someone is aggressive towards you, I handle it. And more importantly—”

“—don’t let them bait me. Yeah, yeah,” Blaine recited, rolling his eyes.

“You, too, Kurt. They’ll try and goad you into talking. Don’t let them,” Puck said.

“Not my first day on the job, Noah,” Kurt said.

“It’s your first time in the spotlight though,” Quinn reminded him, “which is totally different.”

“Yeah, bro. It’s easy to focus when the attention is on someone else, but they know who you are now. Or at least who they think you are. Don’t get flustered. Walk with Quinn behind me and lover boy, and link arms or something. We clear?” Puck said.

Kurt nodded as Blaine helped him shrug his jacket on; he took a moment to allow the palms soothing up his back to ground him. A year ago, had someone told him he would one day seek comfort from _Blaine Anderson_ , he would have laughed long and hard. And yet, here he was, about to walk into a paparazzi trap, wishing more than anything Blaine could steer him through this first taste of overexposure.

It wasn’t an option until they were ready though. So he squeezed Blaine’s fingers once, ignored another phone call from Wes, thanked Marco and Joe for the lovely meal, and looped his arm through Quinn’s, ready.

Stepping out of the restaurant was like surfacing after an underwater swim at night. A wall of bodies pushed in around them, yelling, shoving, and snapping photos. Kurt squeezed his eyes shut against a blinding flash and stumbled over someone’s boot. 

“Looking good, Blaine!” said one paparazzo.

“Kurt, over here!” called another.

“Why did you cheat on Blaine, Kurt?”

“Out of my way, please,” Puck said firmly but calmly. One hand gripped Blaine’s shoulder, the other urged the crowd to part for them.

Blaine quickly glanced back at Kurt, who hoped his answering smile was reassuring because he felt anything but. Totally misinformed questions were being spat from all angles, hateful to an absurd degree. His heart began thudding painfully in his throat, adrenaline churning up his nerves, and his mouth became quite Sahara-like in its sudden dryness.

He clutched Quinn’s soft hand more tightly.

“Oi, how close are you and Hummel?”

“Isn’t it a conflict of interest to fuck the help, Blaine?”

Blaine halted so abruptly, Kurt walked into the back of him.

“What did you just say to me?” Blaine growled, tearing around in search of the questioner.

“Blaine, no—” Kurt gasped.

“I said isn’t it a conf—”

“—Mr. Anderson is not answering questions!” Quinn shouted.

Blaine was visibly seething. “Who the hell do you think you—?”

“—Blaine!” Puck hissed, and grabbed his bicep to pull him along. “Shut. Up!”

Quinn resumed walking and Kurt dazedly followed her lead, walking as if on autopilot. Looking around at the disorienting sea of faces was like being trapped in a zoo exhibit. Was this how a captive animal felt when people poked, prodded, and yelled through the bars of its cage, trying to make it entertain them? 

“You’re doing fine, Kurt,” Quinn said in his ear. “Nearly there.”

“Blaine, over here!”

“Come on, Kurt. Nice big smile. You don’t want to look miserable in a newspaper!”

“Blaine, when did you find out your boyfriend was cheating on you?”

“Is it true this album will be your last?”

“Is it true you cheated on Sebastian Smythe? Has it caused a rift with his father’s record label?”

“That’s a new one. Great imagination, fellas,” Blaine said sarcastically.

Mercifully, they had reached the van. The driver slid the back passenger door open. Puck set himself up as a barrier between them and the crowd, and Blaine ushered Quinn into the car ahead of him. Before Kurt could follow, though, someone grabbed the back of his jacket, and fingers scrabbled at the back of his neck.

“Hey!” Kurt squawked.

He twisted to face his assailant and tug himself free—and was met with a blinding flash.

“GET THE FUCK OFF HIM!” Blaine roared.

Purple-black spots danced around his vision, and Kurt stumbled in an attempt to free himself. Puck forced his way between Kurt and the photographer, effectively breaking the man’s grip, but the sudden jolt propelled Kurt into Blaine, who caught him in his arms. Quickly Blaine stepped back, steadying Kurt only by the shoulders, but the damage was done—cameras flashed all around them, capturing the shot of the night

Undeterred, the man aimed his camera over Puck’s shoulder, but this was one mistake too many for the bodyguard. Puck grabbed him at the scruff of the neck and shoved him backwards so hard that he tripped, dropping his camera as he fell to the sidewalk.

“Get in the car, Kurt,” Puck ordered.

Kurt didn’t need telling twice; he pushed Blaine inside ahead of him, and felt Puck slam the door behind them. The lock clicked into place, and he, Blaine and Quinn watched as Puck helped the photographer off the ground, scooped up his camera, and thrust it back into his hands.

“Kurt, you okay?” Blaine asked anxiously, patting at Kurt’s shoulders, arms and back to check for injury.

“Yes,” Kurt said shakily. “Is Noah okay out there by himself?”

“He’s fine,” Quinn said from Blaine’s other side. “Just give him a minute to calm the situation.”

Two minutes and a heated argument with the rogue photographer later, Puck was jumping into the front passenger seat. The driver put the vehicle in gear and moved off from the curb, but not before Puck turned and glowered at Blaine.

“What did I fucking tell you, Blaine?” he growled. “What do I _always_ fucking tell you?”

“You’d react the same way if someone grabbed Quinn!” Blaine snarled.

“ _Don’t react_ , I said. _Stay quiet_ , I said. Why do you always make my job ten times harder?”

“Both of you, cut it out!” Quinn snapped. “It happened. It’s over with.”

“But he—”

“—Noah!” she stopped him mid-rant. “I’ve seen Blaine handle a situation _far_ worse. He was just defending his boyfriend.”

“The boyfriend he’s supposedly _just_ _friends_ with,” Puck laughed humorlessly. “No one is gonna believe that shit now.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kurt said sharply.

All three turned; they’d been too absorbed in their argument to notice he’d curled in on himself with his hand pressed to his furiously pounding head.

“We can deal with the repercussions later. But can you please just stop shouting?” Kurt pleaded.

Blaine’s eyebrows relaxed their furrow immediately. He reached out slowly, giving Kurt time to brush him off. When Kurt burrowed his head between Blaine’s neck and chest, Blaine wrapped him up securely.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Kurt’s hair. “You’re trembling.”

“I’m okay…” Kurt began. “That was just…I don’t think I want a repeat.”

Blaine nodded and held Kurt more tightly. No one said a word for the rest of the journey. The car pulled up outside their hotel, which was thankfully free of paparazzi. Puck jumped out, checked the area to make sure of this, and opened the door for Blaine, Kurt and Quinn to step out. Blaine mumbled a sullen ‘thank you’ and started towards the hotel, but Quinn touched Kurt’s arm to keep him back.

“About tonight,” she began. “I’m not sure how they found out where you guys were, but—”

“—it’s someone close to us. I know,” Kurt said.

“What are you going to do?”

He linked arms with her on the way through the hotel entrance. “Follow my gut.”

By unspoken agreement, Kurt and Blaine headed to Blaine’s suite, stripped down to their underwear, and climbed into bed. Kurt’s head was pounding from a combination of adrenaline and overexposure to blinding lights; so he took some painkillers and relaxed for the first time since dinner. Blaine softly nuzzled and kissed the back of his neck until they both fell into uneasy slumber.

* * *

When Kurt awoke the next morning, Blaine was already sitting up, a pair of glasses perched on his nose and a tablet propped up by his knees. Kurt smiled sleepily at the sight, for a moment allowing himself to indulge in the domestic daydream of one day owning a house with Blaine and waking up to him every day. Damn David for putting _that_ notion in his head.

“Hey,” Kurt murmured, as he shifted onto his side and rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

“A little after six,” Blaine replied. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Kurt hummed noncommittally. “What’re you looking at?”

“Rachel sent a bunch of Matilda reviews,” Blaine said with a roll of the eyes.

Oh. Kurt had assumed he was looking up last night’s pictures.

“Are they good?” Kurt asked.

“They’re pretty favorable. Although Broadway dot com said…hang on, I’ll read it to you:

 _‘Rachel Berry brings a gentle warmth to the role of Miss Honey that complements her genuine rapport with the young cast. However, her performance is not without fault; she slipped from her clipped British accent many times. And while the audience around me seemed not to notice, it jarred me from the narrative. The slips are most noticeable in Berry’s key numbers:_ My House _and_ This Little Girl _, when Miss Honey’s emotions are most fraught. Unforgivable, when you consider an entire ensemble of children can maintain their diction, with an ease surpassing their professionally trained co-star.’”_

“Ouch.” Kurt grimaced.

“Yeah.” Blaine tossed his glasses onto the nightstand and lay back down, throwing his leg over Kurt’s hip. “I guess I’m not that good a teacher,” he mused.

“There’s only so much you could have helped her with,” Kurt replied. “And I know for a fact she was grateful. Even if she won’t admit it.”

“We’ll make time to see the show when we’re in New York.”

Kurt nodded, yawning.

“Did you, um…” Kurt ran his thumb over Blaine’s hipbone, pulse racing with apprehension. “Are there any pictures from last night?”

Blaine’s breath stuttered out. “Kitty sent me a bundle this morning, but I deleted the email,” he hedged. “Wes wants to see me later.”

Kurt’s stomach flipped uncomfortably at the mention of Wes and Kitty. He grabbed his own tablet from his bag, took a deep breath, and googled the images from last night for himself. The first news results dismayed him:

 ----

_Blaine Anderson attacks paparazzo in Soho!_

_Bad Boy Blaine makes a comeback!_

_Blaine Anderson reacts to Hummel cheating scandal._

_Warbler caught on date with rumoured beau!_

_Blaine Anderson lashes out at media over assistant._

_Trouble in paradise? Blaine Anderson date turns sour!_

_Blaine Anderson enjoys night out with friends._

_Blaine’s Warbler posse forms united front amid cheating rumours._

_\----_

“Do I even want to know?” Blaine slid beneath the covers to hide his face against Kurt’s stomach.

“It’s nothing we can’t handle,” Kurt said.

He groaned internally at a particularly incriminating photo: Kurt’s palms are flat against Blaine’s chest, and Blaine’s grip is secure at his waist. For that one moment, just after Kurt was pushed, Blaine’s eyes are unguarded, soft with concern for the man in his arms. They look like a couple.  

Blaine was quiet beside him for some time. Only the top of his curly head of hair could be seen above the comforter. “I’m sorry I ruined our date,” he mumbled into Kurt’s belly button.

“Hey!” Kurt dropped the tablet onto Blaine’s side of the bed and burrowed down so they were face to face. Their blankets wrapped them up like a cocoon, blocking out the morning and the responsibilities that came with it. “It was my idea to go out last night, remember?”

“If I had just kept my cool though,” Blaine groaned bitterly. “I’ve never been good with paparazzi. And I tried _so_ hard last night to get you out of there. But that guy accused me of _‘fucking the help’_ and another grabbed you, and I just…lost it.”

“Yeah…it could have gone better,” Kurt deadpanned lightly.

Blaine was dead serious though. “He hurt you.”

“No, he didn’t. I’m fine,” Kurt dismissed.

“Kurt, I just spent the last hour staring at the bruise on your back,” Blaine murmured.

Kurt felt Blaine’s hand smooth up his back and winced when fingers brushed at a spot below his neck and shoulder. Kurt hadn’t realized the photographer had left a mark. Then again, he bruised so easily it came as no surprise.

“I feel like you keep getting hurt because of me,” Blaine confessed, words flowing under their sanctuary of blankets. “Harmony, Jeremiah, the paparazzi. If not for my stupid job—”

“—none of that is your fault! What are you even talking about?” Kurt cried. He kissed Blaine when he tried to protest. “No, Blaine. Listen. That photographer grabbed me because he wanted a better photo. Harmony threw coffee at me because she’s a spoiled brat. Jeremiah’s a disgusting creep. Last night we _all_ underestimated the mob outside. You’ve got to stop blaming yourself for every little thing that happens to me. I’m a big boy. I can deal with it.”

Blaine shook his head at Kurt wonderingly. “How are you so rational about all this?”

Kurt released a breath through his nose. “I didn’t feel very rational last night,” he admitted. “Quinn and Noah were right. It’s different when you’re the target. And I was…” he trailed off.

“…overwhelmed?” Blaine supplied.

“Yeah,” Kurt whispered. “I felt overwhelmed and isolated and scared.” It was hard to admit, even to himself, but he knew he could say it to Blaine.

Blaine squeezed his eyes shut. “Would it help if I told you it gets easier?”

“No, because it’d be a lie,” Kurt replied honestly.

“Kurt, I…” Blaine pulled him closer. “If you want out, you can tell me. I won’t…I’ll understand.”

“Blaine—”

“—I’ll still be your friend. I’ll always be your friend,” Blaine hurried to add.

“Blaine, I don’t want out!” Kurt said firmly. He rolled Blaine onto his back and hovered over him. “I told you that night in New York. I knew it was going to be hard, but I don’t care as long as I have _you_. All the shitty stuff is irrelevant when I get to have _this_.”

Blaine sat up and wrapped his arms tightly around Kurt’s neck, carefully avoiding the bruise.

“You know, when I first met you, I never would have guessed such a tender heart was hiding behind all that bravado,” Kurt whispered in Blaine’s ear.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Blaine mumbled.

“And ruin that faux bad boy thing you got going? Never.”

He kissed down Blaine’s face—forehead, nose, and mouth—and then reluctantly drew back to check his phone.

There were 17 missed calls, 5 new voice messages, and 29 text messages from Wes alone. Kurt scowled and opened the last message.

**Wes (06:16): If I don’t see you in my office at 10:30 you won’t have a job at 10:35**

“Everything okay?” Blaine asked when Kurt scoffed aloud.

“Yeah. Just Wes wanting to see me at 10:30,” Kurt replied.

“Want me to go with you? He wants to see me anyway.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I need to talk to him about something; so this plays into my plans,” Kurt dismissed.  

He could feel Blaine watching him as he grabbed toiletries from his overnight bag.

“You’re keeping something from me,” Blaine accused, eyes narrowed to slits.

Kurt sighed and cupped Blaine’s face in both hands to kiss his worried pout away. “It’s probably nothing. I just need to clear some air with him,” Kurt murmured against his lips. “Please don’t worry.”

Blaine didn’t believe him, but kept any further questioning to himself, for which Kurt was grateful.

There was something very weird going on, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it before involving Blaine…just in case he was wrong. No need to add anything else to the already overburdened load Blaine was carrying, unless absolutely necessary.

Kurt sent a reply to Wes and pulled Blaine into the bathroom to prepare for the day to come.

**Kurt (06:24): I’ll be there.**


	34. Clarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My chapters wouldn't be the same without the careful betaing and support of AncientGleek and LadyFiona89. Thanks for keeping me sane guys.

Kurt made it to Wes’ office with ten minutes to spare. Rather than look eager to please his manager, he dawdled outside to reply to a frenzied email from Mercedes, hit send, and checked the time again. It was 10:29. Show time.

“Come in,” Wes called when Kurt knocked on the door.

The door closed with a snap behind Kurt. Wes was sitting at his desk, as usual. No smiles or pleasantries were exchanged as Kurt seated himself opposite Wes without invitation, and Wes only raised a questioning eyebrow when Kurt opened an audio recording app on his phone and set it down on the desk between them.

“Well, you _did_ threaten to fire me over text message,” Kurt explained. “I wasn’t going to come in here unprepared.”

“You got one of my messages then,” Wes began irritably.

“I got _all_ of your messages,” Kurt responded.

Wes’ eyes flashed at that. “I see. Do you mind telling me why you didn’t respond last night?”

“Well, I was a little preoccupied,” Kurt said sarcastically. “What with the press waiting to ambush us.”

“When I hired you, Kurt, it was understood that you would keep me informed when I’m not there to oversee a situation,” Wes reprimanded. “I thought perhaps there was a genuine reason you weren’t doing so, but it seems you really were just ignoring your duty.”

“My duty?” Kurt repeated. “I was on a _date_ , Wes. You expect me to follow company protocol during my free time?”

“Free time ends the moment the team is called to action, Kurt. You know this.” Wes shook his head in disbelief. “What’s gotten into you, talking to me like this? For the last nine months I’ve been able to rely on you, but now…you better have a damn good reason for this sudden attitude problem, or I’ll have no choice but to put you on a disciplinary.”

Kurt ground his teeth together to keep his temper from flaring and leaned forward, elbow resting on the knee crossed over the other, fingers balled into a loose fist.

“Why were the paparazzi outside the restaurant last night?”

Wes was taken aback. Clearly he had expected an answer, not another question thrown his way.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” Kurt said coolly. “Ever since the paparazzi showed up outside the restaurant last night, I’ve been trying to figure out how they knew Blaine and I were there.”

“Someone must have seen you go in,” Wes replied quickly.

“Yeah…I thought that at first, too,” Kurt admitted. “The thing is, though, you told me this restaurant was discreet. You said we would sneak in and out unnoticed, no problem. So imagine our surprise when the paparazzi turned up. Something _you_ assured me wouldn’t happen.”

“What are you trying to imply, Kurt?” Wes asked sharply.

“I think you know exactly what I’m implying,” Kurt said. His back was ramrod straight, and his hands gripped his own knee for support, the only giveaway that his nerves were charged. “And I don’t say any of this lightly.”

Wes leaned back in his seat and glared at Kurt over his glasses. “Well, I sincerely hope you’re about to explain where this is coming from. Because I don’t take allegations against my professionalism _lightly_.”

“It’s not a random thought, Wes,” Kurt said coldly. “This has been bothering me since the paparazzi took pictures of Blaine and me entering our hotel, two months ago. And now, after last night…I can’t let this go on without an explanation.” Kurt raised his chin in defiance.

Wes was unreadable, but eventually rested his chin on his joined fingers, elbows on the desk. “You have my attention.”

Kurt’s throat was dry; he poured himself some water from a pitcher set to one side and took a quick sip before continuing.

“Two months ago, when Blaine and I were snapped outside the hotel, I was expecting you to question me about the photos,” Kurt began. “I thought you would be suspicious and ask why we looked so…close.”

Wes nodded as he thought back to the event Kurt was referencing. “You were upset. Blaine was caught walking you into the hotel, right?” he clarified aloud.

“Yes.” Kurt bit his top lip. “When I finally thought you were going to bring it up, you confused the hell out of me and encouraged me to do work experience with Mercedes instead.”

“You’re a good employee, Kurt, despite the last twelve hours. Of course I want to offer you all the opportunities I can,” Wes said stiffly.

“And I’m grateful for that,” Kurt added. “But, Wes...in February you told me I was close to being fired, because a cab driver I used blabbed to the press.”

“I remember.”

“So I was expecting you to react the same way to the hotel incident,” Kurt explained. “Even I could tell we looked close in those pictures; so I wouldn’t have blamed you for asking for my side of the story. But you didn’t. Not once.” Kurt shook his head accusingly. “When months ago you made me feel two inches tall over a smaller issue.”

“Kurt—”

“—and when that video of us in Windsor surfaced, you still didn’t say a word. You’d only just given me my revised contract when that girl tweeted the recording. I hadn’t signed it yet. You could have tried to penalize me for being inappropriate with Blaine in public because my original contract was still intact. But you _didn’t_.”

Kurt looked to Wes for a reply that wasn’t forthcoming.

“Wes, none of this adds up!”

“I see.”

Kurt glowered; the man was being frustratingly coy. So he tried another tact.

“I know you and Kitty are under pressure to improve the band’s image…which is another reason I find this whole thing strange.”

“I think I know where this is going,” Wes admitted.

“When my contract was changed, I thought you were throwing us a bone,” Kurt said. “I thought this was Blaine’s friend doing the right thing…trusting him. Now I’m not so sure.” He paused for a breath. “Now I’m wondering if this whole thing has been set-up.”

Wes removed his glasses from their perch on his nose and polished the lenses.

“Wes, I want to clear this up in my head, before you bring Blaine into this conversation.” Kurt waited for Wes to finish stalling, and caught his serious gaze. “Has this been some kind of plan?”

Blinking at Kurt resignedly, Wes’ mouth twisted into a grim line. “You really are too smart for your own good sometimes.”

“Wes, _please_ ,” Kurt said forcefully. “Have you turned our relationship into a media strategy?”

 Wes stared at him unblinkingly for some time. “…Yes.”

The breath trapped in Kurt’s chest whooshed out. “The paparazzi outside the hotel…?”

“Were tipped off by Kitty,” Wes admitted. “Blaine was with me that night going over some documentation when he up and left without explanation. He was bored, and I assumed he’d been invited to a party or something; so I had Kitty arrange a quick photo op at the hotel. Jeff and Nick were out, too, and it was a perfect opportunity to archive the three returning.”

“Why?”

Wes sighed. “This was before the fall out over Nick and Blaine’s songs. It was just supposed to be a way to get the press and fans talking about them again. Show them living the high life, going out and staying in luxury hotels. But now…we’re weeks away from releasing their severely delayed EP. Their third album follows in late November. The future of the band is on the line because Blaine and Nick pissed off Jonathan Smythe. And since Blaine met you he’s calmed down. So much so, in fact, that no one’s been writing about him."

“I thought you _wanted_ him to behave?” Kurt said incredulously.

“I did. I do. For his own sake. But for the band? I didn’t realize how much their success over the last two years had relied on Blaine getting himself into the papers. Not until he calmed down. A former prep school good-boy-gone-bad is an easier sell than the reverse. That takes some skill.”

Kurt couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “How can you talk about all this so clinically?” he accused. “Blaine is supposed to be your friend, and you’re talking about his personal problems like they’re nothing more than a PR issue!”

“I am his friend,” Wes sniped. “I want him to be happy. Don’t _ever_ accuse me of not caring about him, Kurt. You might be his boyfriend for now—”

“— _for now_?” Kurt repeated, outraged.

“Yes. For now. Come on, he’s a teenager. Boyfriends are a short term thing for him. And just because you’re the _current boyfriend_ , it doesn’t give you the right to question my loyalties.”

“Well, can you blame me?” Kurt shot back. “You’re talking about him like he’s a robot designed to create headlines, not a boy who was on the brink of hurting himself when I was hired because people kept pushing him around! The way you’ve had the media breathing down his neck could have easily driven him to an _actual breakdown_ , Wes! What kind of friend does that?”

“You don’t know the kind of pressure I’m under!” Wes thundered. “Kitty and I need to get people talking about the band if we’re going to have any chance of winning against Smythe. We didn’t know how until we saw the fans’ and the media’s reaction to _you_ next to him.”

“Me?” Kurt spluttered, incredulous.

“Yes, Kurt. You. We can’t make the media talk about Blaine, the reformed bad-boy. But presenting him as a boy in love? That’s a viable option. That’s the kind of shit the public laps up. And on top of that, you’re American. So that opens the U.S. market back up for us because the boys all will seem more attainable to their State-side fans.”

Kurt tried to respond, but snapped his mouth shut when only disgusting names and curse words came to mind. How the hell was he going to explain this to Blaine? Unless…

“Does Blaine know about this?” Kurt asked. _Please say no_.

“No, he doesn’t,” Wes admitted awkwardly.

Kurt relaxed a fraction at that. So he wasn’t being fooled from all sides. Licking his dry lips, Kurt looked at his own fingers digging into the edge of the desk, as if that was the only thing keeping him from throttling the man Blaine had trusted with his career.

“You didn’t change my contract for Blaine and me, did you?” Kurt realized aloud.

“I want him to be happy, Kurt."

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I want him to be happy,” Wes repeated, voice stronger. “That was part of the reason.”

Kurt’s answering scowl was vicious. “And the other part?”

“…It’s better for his young fans to talk about a romance than the reputation he’d made for himself,” Wes replied. “We have to rebuild his image, Kurt; erase the idea that the one gay member of the band is a promiscuous stereotype.”

“So you sent the media to the restaurant last night to give the fans a fairytale gay romance?”

Wes didn’t deny it this time, and Kurt sat back and laughed cynically.

“And instead you got the headlines he used to get. You have to see the irony here. A photographer grabbed me, and Blaine lashed out. You’re cunning plan _backfired_ , and now Blaine is back to having to defend himself.”

“Blaine had good reason for lashing out,” Wes said evenly. “Kitty and I can work with that.”

A solitary tear slid the length of Kurt’s face; he brushed it away. “Just tell me why I wasn’t told.”

“Because it wasn’t our initial intention to involve you!” Wes beseeched. “The romance angle fell into our laps. I’m not explaining this very well.”

“Then try _harder_.”

“Kurt, those first paparazzi photos outside the hotel months ago? They weren’t meant to include you. I didn’t know Blaine had run to you when I gave Kitty the order to inform the press. But once they were out there, I couldn’t deny what I was seeing. What it could potentially mean.”

“ _What_?”

“I can read Blaine like a book; everyone knows how he feels about you,” Wes said. “It’s _you_ I couldn’t work out. Not until I saw you with your guard down that night. I began to hope that maybe you could love Blaine the way he deserves, and be the key to improving the band’s image. But I didn’t want you to feel obligated to _pretend_ you had feelings for Blaine. So we took away that last barrier between you, to see if your relationship would progress the way we thought it would.”

“The contract change,” Kurt bit out through gritted teeth.

“Yes.”

“I was nearly sexually assaulted that night by his ex, Jeremiah,” Kurt spat. “Did Blaine tell you that? There’s photographic evidence of a night I would rather forget _all over_ the internet because you wanted to rile up the fan base and boost the band’s profile!”

“I didn’t know that had happened to you at the time, Kurt!” Wes shook his head, eyes begging Kurt to understand. “If I’d known, I would have warned Blaine to drive round the back.”

“You expect me to believe that when you’ve spent _god_ knows how long _lying_ to me?” Kurt yelled. He’d lost all patience now. “All anyone does around here is _lie_. Let’s say I believe those photos weren’t a set up for _both_ of us; it still happened again! How did you know we were in Windsor that day?”

“I didn’t. That wasn’t me.”

“ _Bullshit!_ ”

“Watch your language, Kurt! I’m still your superior,” Wes said sharply.

Kurt chewed the inside of his mouth to force himself into silence, still glaring at Wes.

“Can I explain myself, or are you going to interrupt again?” Kurt made no move to respond; so Wes took a breath. “Kurt, that video of you and Blaine in Windsor was taken by a fan. I may have lit the first match—approving the photos outside the hotel—but all sightings of you guys, until last night, were fan encounters. It’s because your social media presence has increased.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I don’t _want_ to be the rumored boyfriend?” Kurt accused. “Blaine and I are together now, but we were still dancing around each other two months ago. Do you not realize how easily you could have scared me away?”

“Yes, it has occurred to me." Wes sighed regretfully. "If you and Blaine didn’t come together, I would have taken steps to make the attention towards you die down.”

“You just said it’s the fans who keep a lookout for me. What can you do to stop that?”

“Keep you off red carpets, advise you not to go out with Blaine in public, stop interviewers asking about you. There are limitations I can put into effect, Kurt. If you want them. However…”

“However. What?” Kurt growled.

“Kitty and I would like to continue on this track,” Wes said, slow and careful.

“ _Excuse_ me?” Kurt asked sharply.

“In a way it’s good this conversation has taken place because we need all the help we can get to make sure The Warblers still have a record deal at the end of the year.”

“Oh my god, you’re not seriously suggesting—”

“—when it comes to the fate of my best friends’ careers, I am perfectly serious, Kurt,” Wes interrupted. “If you and Blaine agree, we want to capitalize on your relationship to keep the band in the headlines. And that means—”

“—coming out as a couple to the media.” Kurt sneered.

“Yes.”

Kurt was done with this conversation. This was too far.

“You know what?” he hissed. “My personal life is not a byline in a newspaper. My relationship with Blaine is not for sale. I’m not some puppet you can roll out every time you think my boyfriend and his friends need a boost!”

“Kurt—”

“—and I can’t speak for Blaine, but I’m pretty sure his response to this is going to be ‘ _fuck’_ and ‘ _you’_ ,” Kurt continued. “Because there is a line, Wes, and you are not welcome on this side of it. Our relationship has nothing to do with either of our careers. It’s just for _us_.”

“Kurt,” Wes said exasperatedly, “you met at work. You’ve been his assistant all year—”

“Yeah? And? People who work for the same company date all the time. That doesn’t mean their relationship is their employer’s business.”

“It is if they work together,” Wes retorted. “Which you and Blaine _do_.”

“Then move me!” Kurt snapped. “That’s why I’m getting experience in wardrobe, anyway, right? You just want me out of the way so you can use me without a conflict of interest.”

Kurt shook his head and laughed, because _wow_. The pieces were really coming together now.

“All I’m asking for is one public statement that you’re dating and the occasional photo op. Just enough to wet the public’s appetite. I know you’re auditioning for stage roles; so it’s not like you don’t want to be in the public eye,” Wes hurled back. “If anything, capitalizing on Blaine will help you make a name for yourself. And keep the rest of us employed.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Kurt jumped to his feet and glowered at Wes. “I want to be known for the acting I do on stage— _not_ live my life like a reality show. I can’t and _won’t_ use him, and he doesn’t want to use me, either!”

“I thought you said you can’t speak for him,” Wes said snidely.

Kurt wasn’t going to take the bait this time though. He sat back in his seat and appraised Wes with a smirk sharper than an icicle. “You don’t get to blur the lines, Wes,” he said coldly. “You have no right to that. So don’t you _dare_ sit there and act like you do! I am in a relationship with Blaine. Not Blaine and _you_! There’s nothing in my contract about you having a say in my personal life, and you won’t bully me.

“And you know what? I’m not discussing this anymore. Not without Blaine. Because more than anything, _he_ deserves to know the truth. So here’s what’s going to happen.” Kurt leaned forward, set his palms on the desk, and held Wes’ wary eyes in the grip of his own icy stare . “You will explain this to him. TODAY.”

“Kurt, you are forgetting who is in charge here,” Wes responded sharply.

“And you _forgot_ to mention I’m part of a _PR experiment_ ; so you don’t get to talk!” Kurt spat.

Wes opened his mouth furiously, Kurt’s accusation hitting him between the eyes.

“When Blaine has all the facts, he and I will discuss how _we_ want to deal with your proposition and let you know. If we choose to stay out of the limelight, you _will_ honor that and make the media interest in me die. Understood?”

“I…” Wes looked long and hard at Kurt, took a deep breath, and said with resignation, “That sounds reasonable.”

“You’re also going to explain to Jeff, David, Nick, and Trent what you and Kitty have done.”

“…Fine.”

“And this is the most important part; so please listen closely.” Even Kurt was surprised by the steel in his voice.

Wes swallowed and gestured for Kurt to continue.

“Relax the strangle hold you have on Blaine’s personal life.”

“I beg your pardon?” Wes said, affronted.

“If Blaine is going to continue fronting the band, he needs some semblance of control over his own life. The way things are now—all the shadiness, treating him as if he’s too fragile to handle the real world—it has to stop.”

“Kurt, his personal life is entwined with his career. I have to know what’s going on so I can do damage control if he messes up.”

“You see, this is the problem,” Kurt ground out. “You just assume he’s going to fuck everything up, but he actually has a pretty good head on his shoulders when you’re not _penalizing_ him for every single, minor misstep.”

“I do not—”

“—Doing things _his_ way, instead of yours, doesn’t make it a fuck up, Wes. He doesn’t need you micromanaging him. What he needs is for you to stop making all his personal decisions for him. He’s turning twenty in January. He’s not a kid. Let him make mistakes. Let him learn how to look after himself. Let him hear the worst. He’s not that boy you remember from Dalton, Wes. He’s a man who _desperately_ wants to join the real world. _Let_ him.”

“Oh, for the love of—there’s really no arguing with you, is there?” Wes grumbled, and threw his glasses down on the desk. Kurt’s answering smile did not reach his grey eyes. “Alright, I’ll step back. It’s not like he listens to me anyway.”

“I’m glad we understand one another,” Kurt said coolly. He picked his phone up off the desk, stopped the audio recording and walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. “Thank you for being honest, Wes…but I can’t trust you anymore. I want this in writing. 

The slam of Wes’ office door behind him was heard on three separate floors.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to all my readers up to this point for your comments and kudos! I've had this arc planned out for months so I was nervous to finally put this chapter out. Hope it didn't disappoint.
> 
> Please Note: This fic is NOT ABANDONED. The reason I have not updated since August is because of writer's block and real life obligations. The next chapter is written, but my beta has not had a chance to look it over for me yet. The moment the chapter is the best it can be, I will post it. Thank you for your patience and sorry for the wait. I know I've left the story on a cliffhanger.


	35. The Fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! *waves sheepishly* I'm back after a much longer hiatus than I intended. Apologies for leaving you on a cliffhanger for 6 months. Life and writer's block hit me hard in the second half of 2015. I promise it will not be anywhere near as long until the next update, because I split what I wrote for this chapter in half. 
> 
> Thank you very much to my betas: AncientGleek for her nitpicking brain, encouragement, and wit. And LadyFiona for listening to me think aloud until we cracked the code to my writer's block together. I made it to the end of this chapter because of you guys.

It started out peacefully enough. Wes called Blaine into his office the same as he would have any other day. And Blaine, bracing himself for the lecture he always knew to expect from his friend and manager, passed by Kurt’s desk with an easy smile and strode across the threshold, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. The office door closed behind him, and Kurt released a long, stressed breath.

For the next twenty minutes he couldn’t focus on work; he was too hyperaware of every muffled sound from inside the office. A chair scraped against the floor, and Kurt’s head snapped up. The clink of a glass against a solid surface had Kurt’s foot tapping against the leg of his desk in rapid rhythm. Quinn looked at him strangely when he thought he heard the door click and leaned over his desk to look.

_Calm down,_ he scolded himself. _Think about something else._

Logging onto his personal email account—there was no way he was getting any real work done—he couldn’t have conjured up a better distraction than the new message in his inbox.

\----------------------------------------

**_To:_ ** _Kurt Hummel_

**_From:_ ** _Tina Cohen-Chang_

**_Subject:_ ** _I hear you’re looking for an agent?_

_Hi Kurt!_

_David mentioned you’re looking for an agent?_

_I won’t be offended if you say no, but I would love to give you my pitch. I’ve recently gone freelance (David said you thought I was in real estate? I am definitely a talent agent!), and filling my roster with people like you is priority number one._

_If you’ve already found representation, feel free to ignore me—professionally, at least. I’d like us to be friends._

_Speaking of which, I hope you’re holding up okay. I’ve seen what the media’s been writing about you, and I can relate. David and I have been together for years, but we only recently went public. In the last few months, his fans have accused me of gold-digging, bearding, and forcing him into codependency, while the tabloid media reduces me to every Asian stereotype they can find._

_I’m here if you just need to vent to someone, too._

_Tina aka TCC Talent_

\---------------------------------------

Kurt had to admit he was intrigued. She wasn’t on the list Adam had given him, but veering away from anyone associated with his ex was probably wise. And he trusted David’s judgment, even if his recommendation of his own significant other was undoubtedly a bit biased…

Kurt quickly sent off his agreement to meet with her, but before he could ensconce himself further in his inbox, Quinn’s head jerked around to Wes’ office door. His fingers stilled over his keyboard and he listened…

_“…do this too me?”_

That was Blaine.

Quinn briefly caught his eye from across the room. Judging by her uncharacteristic silence since his own meeting with Wes, Kurt knew she’d heard snippets of their argument and was dutifully pretending she was none the wiser.

“ _BUT YOU_ DIDN’T _TELL ME, WES!_ ”

“K _eep your voice down.”_ Wes could barely be heard. _“…doing the right thing_ —”

“ _The right thing?”_ Blaine spat, voice loud and clear now. _“The right thing would have been to not treat my boyfriend like—_ ”

“— _Blaine, please, calm down_ —”

_“—you’re supposed to be my fucking_ friend _, Wes!”_

_“I_ am _your friend!”_

_“Then why the hell would you go behind my back like this?”_

_“Because I’m trying to save your careers!”_ Wes hissed back. _“I don’t always have time to run every tiny thing by you.”_

_“Tiny thing? You think meddling in my private life and using it for publicity is a_ tiny _thing? You’re unbelievable,”_ Blaine ranted. _“Absolutely unreal.”_

_“Blaine, please. Quinn and Kurt are just outside.”_

_“I don’t give a fuck!”_ Blaine growled, voice barely muffled by the wooden door now. “ _I just wanted one thing, one bloody thing in my life that was mine, that had nothing to do with album sales or public image or… just one sliver of happiness I could hide away and keep for myself. And you couldn’t even let me have that. You had to go and turn_ him _into a product, too.”_

_“Blaine, you can’t seriously think you’ll be able to hide him forever,”_ Wes rebuffed condescendingly. _“You’re a celebrity.”_

_“BUT_ HE’S _NOT!”_

The sound of something shattering against the wall had Kurt and Quinn bolting out of their seats, ready to rush into the office.

_“You spent_ months _keeping him away from me,”_ Blaine continued, incensed. _“You made me feel like_ shit _for wanting him—”_

_“—I was trying to fix your complete lack of professionalism!”_

_“No._ Fuck _, no! You do not get to preach at me about professionalism!”_ Blaine spat. _“Not when you made Kurt sign a morality clause to keep me at arms-length—and then ripped the thing up the moment our feelings became useful to you!”_

_“To all of us!”_

_“And worst of all, you let us both believe you did it out of the goodness of your heart. When really you were just laying the foundation for an image overhaul behind my back. In what world is that professional?”_

“Oh my god,” Quinn whispered, stealing Kurt’s attention. She dropped back into her chair, eyes wide and fixed on the door, no doubt recalling the fragmented conversation she had overheard in the office, and had relayed to Kurt weeks ago in an effort at reconciliation.

_“Just because he wants to be a performer doesn’t give you the right to slap a fucking target on his back!”_ Blaine continued.

_“I—”_

_“Last night you led a bunch of strangers straight to us with no warning.”_ Kurt could practically see Blaine pacing up and down, hands balled into fists. _“Do you realize what you could have done? What if it wasn’t just the paparazzi who found us? What if a group of homophobes came out to harass us, too? We would have been walking into a trap!”_

_“Blaine—”_

_“I’ve been trying to_ ease _him into my cluster-fuck of a life, not throw him in the deep end without a lifejacket!”_ Blaine bellowed. _“What the_ hell _were you thinking? It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”_

_“Oh, come on, you’re just being melodramatic now. I haven’t changed.”_

_“Really?”_ Blaine choked out sarcastically. The office fell silent for a few moments, as if the fire that had been burning Blaine from the inside out had finally sapped the oxygen from the air. His voice shook when he eventually continued.

_“I’m not so sure anymore…because the boy I knew would never have done this. It’s like you spent so much time at the Hunter School of PR and Misery, that somewhere along the way you forgot how to act like a compassionate human being.”_

_“That’s not true!”_ Wes protested hotly.

_“We fired Hunter and brought Kitty in because this was how_ he _operated,”_ Blaine pointed out accusingly. _“You promised we would call the shots from now on. You said we’d get a say in the handling of our public image. What happened to that?”_

_“I…”_ For the first time since Kurt had known him, Wesley Montgomery didn’t have a comeback.

The office was silent for some time. The door handle twisted, and Kurt sat back in his seat, heart thudding in his throat. The door was opened only a fraction though, just enough for Kurt to make out a familiar curly head of hair through the gap.

Blaine sighed heavily _. “Maybe you really were too inexperienced to manage us.”_

_“I’m…”_ Wes was startled by the turn of conversation. _“Blaine, you don’t mean that.”_

_“I do, actually,”_ Blaine replied coldly. _“Everyone told us to choose management with the receipts to prove their worth…but we decided against it because we thought we would be better off with someone we knew and trusted.”_

_“Blaine,”_ Wes said fearfully. _“You_ can _trust me. Please, I need you to see this from my side—”_

_“—because you’ve always been so willing to see_ my _side?”_ Blaine retorted. _“You’ve been treating me like a know-nothing kid for years, Wes! And I just let you because I thought you were looking out for me. For all of us.”_

_“That’s not fair!”_ Wes denied. _“Look, I know I’ve messed up. Kurt’s made that very clear.”_

_“‘_ Kurt _made that very clear,’”_ Blaine mocked.

Kurt cringed. He had hoped Wes would leave it to him to explain his involvement in Wes’ coming clean. It wouldn’t be the first time Blaine came down on Kurt for meddling in his problems, and the longer this went on, the less confident he was that he’d done the right thing by confronting Wes without Blaine present.

“ _Why did you only realize what a controlling arse you are,_ after _my boyfriend jumped in?”_ Blaine moved farther into the room again and out of Kurt’s line of sight. _“I’ve been asking you to back off for years! Why could_ he _get through to you when_ I _couldn’t?”_

_“Because you’re like my little brother,”_ Wes cried. _“This job…it’s been one shit storm after another since day one, and it’s my job to keep us afloat. And that means I’ve had to make difficult decisions, which is really difficult when you grew up with the people you’re managing.”_

_“You said you could handle it.”_

_“I know I did, and I can,”_ Wes insisted. _“I just…you_ know _we never thought things would get this big. I thought I was managing a group with a UK and Ireland fan base. I didn’t factor the whole world into our plans!”_

_“_ You _are the one who convinced us to try!”_

_“Because Smythe and Hunter wanted it,”_ Wes exclaimed. _“I figured we’d take a crack at the US market just to shut them up. I didn’t think they’d actually go for the preppy school boy thing. But they did, and the pressure became ten times worse as a result…Quinn’s always helped where she could, and I’ve got Kitty to back me up from the PR side now, but before…it was just me, and I…I didn’t want to let you guys down so I started making these decisions on my own.”_

_“You’re so full of shit.”_

_“…I guess I can see why you think that,”_ Wes said softly.

_“Yes, well, I’m glad_ my boyfriend _was able to get that across to you for me,"_ Blaine said sarcastically. _"Because clearly we wouldn’t even be having this conversation otherwise.”_

_“Okay, you’ve made your point!”_ Wes snapped. _“I’m sorry I set up stunts without telling you. I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to ’fess up. I’m sorry I told Kurt before I told you. I’M_ SORRY _!”_

_“But, why?”_ Kurt had to lean forward slightly to catch Blaine’s words, now that his voice had returned to its normal decibel. _“Why could you tell him, but not me?”_

_“I didn’t want to tell him,”_ Wes said bitterly, _“but he’s quite forceful when he wants to be. I just…shit, I don’t know, Blaine. It’s easier to listen to Kurt because we’re not close—there isn’t that emotional connection. Not like there is with you and the lads.”_

There was quiet inside the office for a long moment. Kurt’s hands were squeezed into fists beneath his chin, elbows tucked into his torso, straining to hear Blaine’s reply. Quinn watched him worriedly from across the room, but he had eyes only for the door still standing ajar between him and the quarrel inside the office.

_“Then maybe you shouldn’t be our manager anymore,”_ Blaine finally said.

The door was thrown open. Quinn’s head jerked back around to her laptop when Blaine stormed past both their desks. Kurt made to follow, but Blaine turned, the door to the corridor held in his white-knuckled grip.

“Don’t, Kurt,” he warned.

“I...” Kurt pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and took a timid step forward.

“Just... _don’t_.” Blaine dug his palms into his closed eyelids. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Kurt knew the frustration of feeling cornered by well-meaning loved ones; so he leaned on the edge of his desk and nodded dejectedly at the floor instead of arguing.

“Blaine?” Wes stood warily in the doorway to his office. “I know you’re upset, but we’re screening the music video in less than an hour; so if you could just—”

“—WHO FUCKING CARES?” Blaine roared.

Kurt had never understood the expression ‘a ring of silence’ until the room did just that in the wake of Blaine’s outburst.

“It doesn’t matter anyway, right?” Blaine said, looking around at Kurt, Wes, and Quinn in turn. “That song’s not going to belong to me, anyway, is it?”

Words of reassurance didn’t seem to be in Wes’ vocabulary in that moment, and Blaine took his silence as confirmation the conversation was over. He strode from the room. And despite Kurt’s instinct to chase after and soothe him, he didn’t. Blaine needed space. Kurt would give him that.

Quinn took her cue to disappear, muttering about making tea and coffee, leaving Kurt to awkwardly avoid looking at the man he had yelled at an hour earlier.

Great.

“That...” Wes faltered. “That recording you made of our meeting...could you please keep David, Trent, Nick and Jeff back after the video screening and play it to them?”

Kurt’s eyes flickered to Wes in surprise, but he briefly nodded his head in agreement.

“Thank you.” Wes cleared his throat. “I’ll be back soon. There are, uh...things to consider.”

* * *

Watching the video for “True Enough For You” was, frankly, the last thing Kurt wanted to do. Not when the song Blaine had lovingly crafted was close to being wrenched from his possession. Not when the version being sold to the masses was a generic shell of the original, repackaged for a mass market that would never care for the fragile soul behind the lyrics.   

Kurt had kept every word of his song locked away in the place where he kept his most treasured memories, ever since Blaine had first serenaded him with the original acoustic version.

But, alas, Kurt was required to attend the scheduled screening and pretend like nothing was amiss. So he avoided the core group of Warblers and Canary Records execs and kept to the back of the room, keeping a close eye on his phone.

Predictably, Blaine didn’t turn up. No explanation for his absence was given, and no one asked. Even Jeff—the nosiest of the Warblers—shrugged it off when Wes began his introductory speech without Blaine present, and Mercedes only cast the occasional look of concern over her shoulder at Kurt.

Kurt couldn’t even enjoy Santana’s debut on the record.

Before Kurt knew it, the video had played without his taking in any of it, and everyone but Trent, Nick, Jeff and David had left the room, leaving Kurt to do as Wes asked. He gave an abridged explanation of the situation Wes had manuvered Blaine and him into, set up his phone on the desk, and left them in the meeting room to listen to the recording. He wasn’t ready to relive his conversation with Wes—not when his stomach was tied in knots worrying about Blaine.

Making it back to his own desk, Kurt dropped his head down on the cool wooden surface. God, it was barely mid-afternoon, and the day had already sapped him of all energy.

A steaming coffee cup was placed gently on the desk. “You okay?” Quinn asked.

“Not really,” Kurt mumbled tiredly. “Where’s Wes?”

“In a meeting finalizing promotion for the record,” Quinn said in a monotone. “Apparently he intends to let David, Trent, Nick and Trent chew him out after; so... we should probably take cover.” She wheeled her swivel chair to the opposite side of Kurt’s desk and sat down. “Do you think they’ll do it?”

“What?”

“Fire Wes.”

Kurt shrugged. He honestly didn’t know. Blaine said a lot of things he didn’t mean when he was upset. And there were four other members who had a say.

“I wasn’t trying to get Wes fired,” he said. “I just wanted the truth.”

“I know.”

“Blaine’s just... had a really bad couple of days.” Kurt nearly snorted at his own understatement.

First Jonathan Smythe threatened to take ownership of Blaine and Nick’s songs to keep the band from leaving Canary Records. Then they were ambushed on their date, and Blaine lashed out at a photographer. And to add a fat cherry on top of an already shitty sundae, Blaine’s friend and manager turned their relationship into a PR opportunity without consulting him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that,” Quinn said and took a sip of her coffee. “And that’s saying something because I’ve seen some major tantrums over the years. He’s never done a Harmony Delgada though.”

Kurt’s eyebrow quirked inquisitively.

“Throwing drinks at people,” she clarified.

_“_ He threw that glass _at_ Wes?” Kurt exclaimed, horrified.

“Oh, no!” Quinn waved her hands. “Sorry, bad wording. It shattered against the side wall.”

Relieved, Kurt leaned on one elbow, index finger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose. How long until he could go home, cuddle Blaine and make this better?

“Hey, look on the bright side,” Quinn said, nudging him almost playfully. “Blaine was pretty badass threatening his best friend for you like that.”

Kurt looked up at her like she’d lost her mind.

She rolled her eyes and smiled wryly at his reaction. “I just mean, if he’s willing to fire someone he considers family, just like that...he must really love you.”

Kurt drank deeply from his mocha, cheeks suddenly very hot.

* * *

By the time he left work that evening, Kurt was in a panic. Blaine hadn’t responded to any of the numerous voice or text messages he’d left. And while logically he knew Blaine was angry with Wes, silence left room for doubt, and by the time he made it back to his hotel room, he was sifting through and overanalyzing everything he’d ever said and done.

Had he been wrong to confront Wes? What if, by demanding his manager refrain from treating Blaine like a child, he had inadvertently done the exact same thing?

He was too impulsive. Too controlling.

An unrecognized number called just after 7 pm, and Kurt dragged himself from his self-loathing to accept the call with a tentative, “Blaine?”

_“Nope, this is Sebastian,”_ the voice on the other end drawled.

Kurt rolled his eyes up to his skull. “What do _you_ want?”

“ _Charming as ever,_ ” Sebastian responded. “ _Look, I need you to pick up your boyfriend. He just emptied his guts and I am_ not _his babysitter._ ”

Kurt sat up. “He’s with you?”

_“Surprisingly, yes,”_ Sebastian replied. “ _I thought maybe he wanted a quickie for old time’s sake, but he’s done nothing but whine about his life. Shame, really. He used to be fun. I’m assuming this depressing version of Blaine is your influence.”_

“Where exactly is ‘ _here’_?” Kurt growled.

“ _A pub in Hackney. He had better taste in venue before he met you, too.”_

Kurt stumbled into his shoes and jacket, borrowed Nick’s car, and thirty-two minutes later pulled up outside the address Sebastian had given him.

He wrinkled his nose at the building. The pub was clearly in need of renovation. The sign above the door looked like a strong wind could yank it off the wall, and the white paint on the brickwork was dark with the city’s pollution.

The inside was even worse—dank, dusty, and dimly lit.

He spotted Sebastian in a booth, looking singularly unimpressed with the dark curly head of hair flopped onto the table beside him.

“Fucking _finally_!” Sebastian griped, slipping out of the booth to let Kurt in next to Blaine. “He’s been like that ever since I got him out of the bathroom.”

“How long was he drinking?” Kurt asked.

“Not entirely sure. He was already wasted when I rocked up,” Sebastian replied, sitting on the opposite side and dragging his scotch across the table. “The barman said he came in about four.”

_He’s probably been drinking all day_ , Kurt thought resignedly. He stroked his fingers through Blaine’s curls and ran a flat palm down his back.

“Blaine?” he said gently.

There was no response, but Blaine’s breathing was too labored to be restful.

“Baby, I know you’re awake,” Kurt quietly chided. “Sit up for me.”

“ _Baby_?” Sebastian choked on an ice cube. “Can you be any more nauseating?”

“I _can_ , actually,” Kurt snapped. “Not that it has anything to do with you. Now how about you be a nice friend and get him some water?”

“I’m not your butler, Hummel—”

“JUST DO IT!” Kurt exploded.

All five patrons in the pub spun around to stare, but Kurt didn’t care. He was tired and anxious and _done_ with this _shithole_ of a day. Sebastian’s hands went up in surrender, and he stalked off to the bar, no doubt muttering obscenities about Kurt.

“Ow,” Blaine moaned, rubbing his forehead into his sleeve. “You yelled in my ear.”

“Sorry,” Kurt cringed. “Come on, sit up.”

“Can’t…hurts…”

“It’s self-inflicted; you’re not getting any sympathy here.”

“Fuck you.”

Kurt quirked an eyebrow at that. “Which you won’t be doing, if you talk to me like that again. Sit. Up.”

“Hate you right now.”

“You hate yourself for drinking too much.”

“…I threw up.”

“I know.”

Sebastian plonked a glass of water on the table, and Blaine startled upright blearily. Kurt sighed long-sufferingly, thanked Sebastian through gritted teeth, and pushed the glass toward Blaine.

“Come on, grumpy. Drink up—slowly—and I’ll take you home,” Kurt fussed.

Blaine gingerly sipped for the next ten minutes, placing his head on Kurt’s shoulder when he wasn’t. When he’d swallowed the last mouthful, Kurt nudged his bicep.

“You ready to go now?”

“Bathroom,” Blaine mumbled. “Need to pee.”

Sebastian snorted into the final mouthful of his scotch, but surprisingly got up to help Kurt get Blaine out of the booth.

“Do you need help getting there?” Kurt asked.

Blaine waved him off, though, and staggered away, using the tables around him to keep upright. Only when he’d made it to the door to the men’s room and made his way inside, did Kurt let his head fall into his hands. _God, he’s probably going to fall in the toilet._

“Hummel, quit being dramatic. He’s drunk, not a _borrower_ ,” Sebastian said, and Kurt realized he’d voiced that last thought aloud.

“A _what_?” Kurt tilted his head.

“A tiny person who lives under the floorboards…” Sebastian answered slowly for maximum condescension. When Kurt only blinked at him, he leaned forward. “Wait, you seriously don’t know _The Borrowers_? You’ve never even read the book?”

“No?”

“Wow,” Sebastian deadpanned. “Your subscription to _Princess Weekly_ must be truly riveting. Or perhaps you didn’t progress past picture books?”

“Well, I’ve been known to skim _Douchebag Daily_ on occasion, since you feature so prominently,” Kurt threw back tersely. “And for once in your damn life, would you just shut the fuck up! Blaine and I have had a _really_ crappy day; so forgive me if I don’t care about your stupid pop culture references.”

“Touchy, touchy,” Sebastian scoffed. “Fine then, enlighten me. What’s my father gone and done now? Blaine was whining about Wes earlier, and then, out of the blue, he called my dad a demonic dictator.”

Kurt barely contained a grim smirk. “You don’t pay attention to your dad’s work?”

“Not particularly. Some of the artists signed are easy on the eye, but the business side bores me,” Sebastian replied. “I know my dad’s a prick though. Anything that earns him a title akin to Darth Vader must be worth hearing about.”

“Why, so you can laugh at Blaine’s expense?”

“Believe it or not, Hummel, I actually like Blaine,” Sebastian bit back. “I don’t delight in his misfortunes.”

“Says the man whose best friend is his ex.”

Sebastian scoffed. “ _Friend_ is a bit of a strong word.”

“It is?” Kurt cocked his head in intrigue.

“Let’s just say Jeremiah and I don’t agree on much these days,” Sebastian said. “And anyway, he’s too busy fucking his co-star and obsessing over Blaine to pay me any mind.”

“Adam?” Kurt squawked.

“Yeah, him—the one with the beanie fetish.” A shudder ran through him. “I’d love to stuff the hat most likely to suffocate him into his pretentious mouth.”

“Is that what you don’t agree on?” Kurt asked. “Jeremiah’s taste in men?”

“It’s more how he treats them. I might not qualify for ‘boyfriend of the year’, but I’m pretty straight forward about what I want—sex without a lot of conversation. Jeremiah, on the other hand, likes toying with their lives.” Sebastian thoughtfully tapped his fingernail against his empty scotch glass. “If I tell you something, will you explain what my dad’s done to Blaine?”

“Depends on what you tell me.”

“Well, I better make it good then,” Sebastian said flippantly. “Jeremiah paid the photographer who papped you with Adam the other day.”

Blaine’s suspicions were right then. “Why?”

“Because he’s petty as fuck. He doesn’t like that Blaine seems happy without him—and since you’re the reason lover boy gave Jeremiah back the money he owed, destroying the only leverage he had over Blaine, he wants—very badly—to break you guys up.”

“Well, you can tell Jeremiah it was a waste of his time,” Kurt said. “Blaine didn’t even react when he saw the pictures.”

“Well, obviously—they were about as racy as a Jane Austen adaptation,” Sebastian said cattily.

“And tell him to quit using my ex to get to me,” Kurt continued, ignoring him. “It’s pathetic.”

“No, what’s pathetic is that Adam has no clue he’s being used,” Sebastian replied, causing Kurt’s stomach to flip-flop uncomfortably. “Jeremiah’s always been good at wooing his victims though. How else could he have scored _Blaine_?”

There was a bitter inflection in Sebastian’s words that gave Kurt pause, but before he could analyze further, Blaine announced his return by stumbling over his own feet. Kurt jumped up and caught him with ease.

“O-kay, home time. Sebastian could you…”

The pair looped an arm each under Blaine’s armpits and guided him out to the car. Opening the closest back door, Sebastian held it open for Blaine to crawl inside. The door was shut carefully behind him before Kurt faced Sebastian again.

“Your dad’s threatening to sue The Warblers,” he revealed.

Sebastian’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Nick and Blaine submitted songs under a penname, to see if your dad was deliberately rejecting their songs, and he was pissed when he found out. He says Canary Records can strip them of their band name and claim ownership of the songs they wrote if they sign with another label.”

“He can do that?” Sebastian looked genuinely perplexed.

“I don’t know,” Kurt said with a shrug. “Your dad claims they violated a clause in their contract by writing under a false name.”

“I—shit.”

“Look, do you need to be anywhere? I can give you a ride.”

“No, thanks. I don’t want to be in the car if he pukes again. My nostrils will never recover,” Sebastian dismissed drolly.  

Kurt nodded once and clambered into the car. Blaine was asleep in the back seat; mouth wide open, throat gurgling. Switching the vehicle on, Kurt was about to release the parking break when Sebastian rapped his knuckles on the window.

“Can you tell him I’ll figure something out?” Sebastian said, when the window was lowered. “About my dad, I mean.”

“What? Sebastian, no! I—you’ll only make it worse,” Kurt protested. “You shouldn’t even—and if your dad finds out someone told you—”

“—I’m not going to do anything rash,” Sebastian said hastily. “Just…tell him. Okay?”

Kurt eyed him suspiciously, but Sebastian’s face was surprisingly sincere. Not a smirk or sneer in sight. “Why would do you even want to help?”

Blaine let out a long gurgling snore, and Sebastian’s eyes snapped to the heap of boy in the back. Kurt turned to look, too, unnerved by the unusually fond smile on Sebastian’s face. Like a trick of light it was gone, though, his regular mask of indifference back in place as if it had never left.

“I told you,” Sebastian replied, clearing his throat. “I like Blaine. I always did.”

Kurt’s eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Sebastian straightened up and walked away, hunching over to wrap his jacket closer to his body as he disappeared around the corner.

“We home yet?” Blaine mumbled drowsily, jogging Kurt from his stupor.

“No, not yet, honey,” he replied, easing the car away from the sidewalk.

“M’sorry,” Blaine continued, “…didn’t have to pick me up.”

“Of course I did,” Kurt said softly. “I was really worried about you.”

“Sorry.”

“Shhhh,” Kurt soothed. They had paused at a stop light; so he reached back to squeeze Blaine’s fingers. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you when we’re home.”

“Mmm ‘kay.”

Blaine’s snoring soon filled the car again.

Kurt mulled over Sebastian’s parting words as he drove. There had been a mutual dislike between them from the beginning, but for the first time Kurt felt that he understood why.  And it forced Kurt to acknowledge an uncomfortable question that had been nagging at him since Sebastian contacted him earlier:

Why did Blaine call Sebastian, instead of his boyfriend?


	36. Fragility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone! Firstly, HAPPY HOLIDAYS! (If you celebrate. If not HAPPY DECEMBER!)
> 
> I am deeply sorry for not updating in so long. Life forced me to pay attention to it, and I haven't been active in fandom for a while because of it. I tried to write this story in small bursts, though, and now I have several chapters being beta'd by the lovely AncientGleek. I couldn't have got this chapter out without her. 
> 
> A reader asked if I could write a summary the next time I took a long time to update. I know most people won't want to have to go back to earlier chapters to remember what's going on in the story, so I have taken this request to heart and written a short summary of recent events to catch you up:
> 
> So here’s what you missed: Kurt and Blaine were harassed by paparazzi when they were on a date, and bad boy Blaine made a brief comeback. And it turns out that the band's manager, Wes, alerted the media to their whereabouts. This sparked Kurt to realize that Klaine has been turned into a PR stunt without their permission. So now Kurt’s mad. The Warblers are mad. Blaine is super pissed at Wes, and their friendship is pretty much non existent right now. 
> 
> Meanwhile, Blaine and Nick wrote secret songs that they spirited onto the Warblers new album under a penname. One of these songs, True Enough For You, was written by Blaine about Kurt, and it is the band's new single. Awesome! Except, the label found out what they did and it turns out they're not happy about it. Jonathan Smythe aka CEO of Canary Records, claims they broke a ton of rules that are listed in their record deal, and now he's pretty much out to destroy them unless they re-sign with his label and agree to do everything they're told. 
> 
> So now team Warbler are trying to find a way to outsmart him by the end of the year. Which is hard to do when you're about to release new music and need to go out and work your butt off to promote it. 
> 
> When we last met, Blaine had just found out about Wes' plans to use his romance to promote the new album. He disappeared after a heated argument, until Sebastian Smythe called Kurt to pick up his very drunk boyfriend. There's still no love lost between Kurt and Sebastian, and Kurt isn't happy that Blaine called him for company instead of his boyfriend. And Sebastian shows some genuine concern over the predicament his father has backed Blaine and the guys into, which makes Kurt a little wary. 
> 
> And that’s what you missed on The Warbler is a Tramp!

Kurt didn’t return to his hotel that night. Instead, he set the satnav to direct him back to Blaine’s home. Pulling up to the house just after 9pm, Kurt ignored the now familiar “For Sale” sign that had been hammered into the grass outside the gates, and shook Blaine’s shoulder until he was awake enough to recite the code to the gate. Once they were safely inside the property boundary and parked, Kurt helped Blaine out of the car, up the stairs and into his bedroom, where Blaine fell back to sleep on top of the bed covers, fully dressed.

Kurt had the presence of mind to remove Blaine’s shoes for him before tiptoeing back downstairs, leaving Blaine to his slumber for the rest of the evening.

Kurt was too keyed up to sleep. He found an open bottle of wine tucked away in the fridge, poured himself a generous glass, and carried it into the cosy tranquility of Blaine’s beloved music room. And there he stayed, reading a book on his tablet into the early hours, studiously ignoring his phone every time it flashed to signal the receipt of another message. He’d deal with them in the morning.

It was just after 2am when he heard the staircase in the hall creak. Shutting off his tablet, Kurt scooted over on the window seat as Blaine shuffled his way into the room, now dressed in a pair of sweat pants and an old (but thankfully clean) t-shirt. Kurt tried not to let his disappointment show when, instead of cuddling into him as he usually would, Blaine settled on the opposite end of the window seat, back against the wall, legs curled in front of him.

“How do you feel?” Kurt asked softly.

“Like I’ve been trying to forget this day with alcohol,” Blaine rasped sheepishly.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really, but I can’t avoid it, can I?” Blaine said numbly, his listless eyes unfocused.

Kurt watched him in silence, waiting for Blaine to find the place in his jumbled mind where he wanted to begin.

“How long did you know?” Blaine eventually asked.

“Know what?”

“That Wes was tipping off the press.”

Kurt swallowed nervously. “I—Quinn told me she’d overheard Wes and Kitty talking about us. So I guess she planted the seed in my head. I didn’t suspect he was responsible until we were ambushed at the restaurant, though.”

“Oh,” Blaine said flatly. “I’m kind of mad I didn’t work that out for myself.”

“Please don’t be like that,” Kurt begged, shuffling closer to Blaine—who wouldn’t meet his eyes—and tipping his chin up. “I’m amazed _I_ thought of it.”

“I’m not,” Blaine scoffed. “You’re not stupid.”

The ‘ _like me’_ was left unsaid, but Kurt heard it in his tone nonetheless.

“Neither are you,” he replied firmly.

Blinking rapidly, Blaine rolled his eyes back and then squeezed them shut, taking a shuddering breath. “Can I ask…?”

“Anything.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when you figured it out?” Blaine’s voice was small.

Silently acknowledging his own doubts about his actions, Kurt said, “Because I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to tell you Wes was going behind our backs, only to be proven wrong and cause friction between you. I…you already have to deal with so much. I didn’t want to add to the burden.” He paused, making sure they had eye contact, and then continued, “I’m sorry if that was out of line. I know you hate being treated like a child.”

And god, he really had confronted Wes like a parent at a parent/teacher conference.

“No, I get it,” Blaine said, hugging the nearest cushion to his chest. “I know you were trying to help. It just…I’ve been trying to prove to him that I’m capable of doing shit for myself for years, and it was like shouting into the void. But you...all it took was one conversation. And it makes me feel…” Blaine’s eyes were darting around the room, searching for the right word.

“Ignored?” Kurt offered gently.

“ _Useless_ ,” Blaine breathed. “Invisible. I know that sounds stupid in my position. Literally everyone knows me by sight.”

“That doesn’t mean they see _you_ , Blaine,” Kurt soothed.

“Sometimes I think no one does.”

“Blaine...” Kurt whispered, touching his fingers to Blaine’s cheek.

“Please, don’t touch me,” Blaine choked, shrinking impossibly close to the wall behind him.

Kurt dropped his hand, stung. “I’m...sorry?”

Blaine’s knees were drawn up to his chin as though a physical barrier was needed to keep Kurt away, but his eyes were an open window, wide and pleading. “It’s not that I don’t...” Blaine swallowed thickly. “I just…I’m barely keeping together. If you touch me, I know I’ll lose it.”

A fist clenched around his heart would have been less painful. He had never seen Blaine like this—so fragile that a comforting gesture could push him beyond his emotional threshold.

It had been a long time since Kurt had felt such vulnerability, probably not since his mother’s death, but even then he’d had his dad to comfort him. And then there was his father’s first heart attack—he remembered the isolation he felt the day he sang “I Want to Hold Your Hand” in front of the Glee club, terrified of being alone and fearing he would never again know the strength of his father’s hand clutching his. But then a miracle happened; just as his hope was at its lowest, his dad’s limp fingers curled weakly around his own, the knot in the hollow of his stomach unraveled, and finally he felt safe enough to feel again.

Blaine though—Kurt watched him sadly from the opposite end of the window seat. Blaine’s parents had left him in a boarding school when he was only fourteen, and moved to Italy. Kurt had spoken to Pam, his mother, on the phone a few times—as her son’s assistant—but despite her regular phone calls, she and Blaine’s father never seemed to visit.

So who used to hold Blaine’s hand when he was hurting?

“Maybe falling apart would be a good thing,” Kurt said softly, shifting closer. “It’s not healthy to bottle up your feelings.”

“I have to,” Blaine whispered. “If I don’t, I’ll just be proving Wes right—that I’m not strong enough to keep my life together.”

“Blaine, I don’t think Wes is keeping _his_ life together. He’d be a colossal hypocrite to judge you.”

Blaine’s teeth ground together, unable to answer.

“Even the strongest people need to let go every once in a while,” Kurt continued.

“I just can’t. Not right now. Kurt, I...”

“Okay.” Kurt squeezed Blaine’s shoulder with a gentle hand, and tried not to take it personally when Blaine’s whole body tensed against it. Swallowing hard, he checked the time on his phone. It was after two in the morning. “Look, how about I run you a bath and then we go to bed?” he suggested, pushing past the lump in his throat and putting extra pep in his voice.

“It’s—no, it’s okay. I can run my own bath,” Blaine mumbled despondently.

Kurt was already halfway up the staircase, though, and he busied himself running hot water into the bathtub, dousing it with lavender-scented bubble bath, and making sure a fluffy white towel was within reaching distance. With nothing else to do, he perched on the edge of the bath to watch the bubbles expand from nothing into nonsensical shapes on the surface. It was peaceful really, the gush from the brass taps drowning out the fears plaguing Kurt’s tired mind, washing them away—even if only for a moment.

Blaine made his way upstairs a few minutes later. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, waiting as Kurt dipped his hand in the water to test the temperature. Finally satisfied, Kurt turned the taps off and beckoned Blaine inside.

“If it’s all right with you, I think I’ll go to bed,” Kurt said stiffly. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, that’s—you know where my bedroom is,” Blaine replied, hand running through his curly hair.

“Oh, I...” Kurt pulled at his bottom lip with his teeth. “You want me to? I mean, I thought maybe you’d rather I—”

“No!” Blaine interrupted, taking an abrupt step forward. “I—please, sleep in my room.”

“O—okay. Yes. I will. I’ll just...” Kurt’s cheeks warmed, though the steam swirling around the room from the bathtub was not the culprit. He felt so awkward he could trip over his tongue.

Before he could reach the cool air of the upstairs hall though, long fingers wrapped around Kurt’s elbow, stopping him. Turning back, he tensed when Blaine gently kissed him on the lips. Kurt returned it after a moment, unable to enjoy the familiar jolt below his navel, or even move for fear of spooking Blaine back into his shell. When Blaine pulled back a moment later, he touched his forehead to Kurt’s.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine whispered. “It’s not you. Please, don’t think it’s you.”

Kurt nodded, their noses brushing as he did so. “I’m trying not to,” he replied, just as softly. “We do need to talk about all this though. We knew this was going to happen one day. I just wasn’t counting on all this attention so soon. We have to figure it out.”

“I know.” Blaine sighed. “Just…not tonight?”

Kurt nodded his agreement, “Not tonight,” and earned another sweet peck to his lips. Giving Blaine’s hand a last squeeze, he stepped back. “Enjoy your bath.”

“Kurt?” Blaine called again. Kurt hesitated in the doorway. “I—I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Wes,” Blaine choked. “That he used you like this. If I’d known. I—” His arms wrapped tightly around his own stomach. “I should have known.”

Kurt’s heart shattered again. “No—”

Blaine shook his head violently in response, and it took every ounce of willpower Kurt possessed to not pull Blaine into his arms and try to shield him from the torment he was suffering inside. Kurt recalled how Blaine had flinched back from him downstairs, though. So he took another step back, allowing Blaine the space he needed to not disintegrate, and offered up the only comfort he could—what he hoped Blaine needed to hear.

“It’s not your fault, baby,” rt whispered.

And with a wobbly smile that he hoped was reassuring, Kurt slipped from the room.

He didn’t allow the tears brimming his eyes to fall until he was safely snuggled under the duvet in Blaine’s bedroom, and sure he wouldn’t be discovered. They slid past his nose, one drop at a time, and sank into his pillow. With a bit of luck, Blaine would never know he’d been crying.

Kurt would never regret the day he fell for Blaine, but it was becoming clearer each day that he should have devoted more time to learning how to read his mind, and not just his body in their private time. Blaine didn’t always know how to accept comfort; that much Kurt had begun to understand. And that meant there were no quick fixes Kurt could rely on. This wasn’t a house for sale, or a manager to be put in his place; no   lists or logical reassurances would stop Blaine hurting. Especially when the only ways Kurt knew how to help were rejected.

Kurt had never felt more useless in his life.

Sniffling, he wiped his nose and buried his head under the covers. Maybe he should have just left Blaine to Sebastian, the person he had actually called for company tonight. Clearly even Blaine knew Kurt was out of his depth here.

He was in love with a man he didn’t know how to support. It was draining, and he was beginning to realize just how bad he was at being Blaine’s boyfriend.

* * *

  **SuckMyBlainers:** @WarblersOfficial If you lazy fuckers don’t release something in the next week I am unstanning!

 **WarblersOfficial:** @SuckMyBlainers Charming. In the next week, eh…? – Trent

 **SuckMyBlainers:** @WarblersOfficial ?????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!

* * *

 The “figure it out” conversation Kurt and Blaine needed to have didn’t happen the next day.

Or the following week.

It was to be expected—or that’s what Kurt told himself. Life was a hectic thing for a world-renowned boyband, especially one about to release new music. And despite the palpable tension between the boys and their manager since Wes’ unorthodox meddling had been exposed, there was work to be done to ensure their new album was a success.

More so than other years, Kurt was told, the band and their team were feeling the pressure.

With their other albums, even if they hadn’t sold spectacularly well, there would have been the chance to redeem themselves on the next one. This was the last album in their deal with Canary Records, though. And, with their future as a band at stake while they clashed with the label over their treatment, there was no guarantee of a new album in the future.

If the public didn’t take to the new album—which included five songs written by Blaine and Nick under the penname, Ben Luvdall—their hopes for better control of their music would wilt before they had even had a chance to bloom.

But if people enjoyed the new songs, seizing their livelihood back from Canary Records would have a renewed strength.

“A high sales count will attract interest from other labels,” Wes reminded the whole team in one of many meetings that took place that week. For a man who had pissed off more than one person in the room, Wes was remarkably good at plowing on as if nothing was wrong. “‘True Enough For You’ will be released on the 17th of October, which is this coming Monday. The release date for the album is the 25th of November. So we have four weeks to get the word out about the new album and make sure its debut is a big one. These are the figures from the last two albums.”

Kurt, who had been watching a hunched-down Blaine determinedly ignore Wes by doodling on a pad of paper, looked up at the board in interest when the presentation skipped to a new slide listing the sales for each album.

 

 **Album No. One – Release Date: Fourteenth November 2012**  

Copies sold in 2012: 1,556,400.

Copies sold in 2013: 3,967,830.

Copies sold (streams included) in 2014: 1,025,506.

Copies sold (streams included) in 2015: 500,245.

Copies sold in 2016 (As of Oct): 200,123

 **Total sales** : 7,250, 104

 

**Album No. Two – Release Date: Twenty-First November 2014**

Copies sold in 2014 (streams included): 3,357,992.

Copies sold in 2015 (streams included): 5,266,600.

Copies sold in 2016 (As of Oct): 2,123,983.

Total sales: 10,748,575

 

“Ideally we want the third album to top the sales of both albums,” Wes continued while everyone but Blaine was examining the slide, “but given the current circumstances it will be difficult. When we released the second album, the label estimated you guys would sell two million copies by the end of 2014. So when these numbers came in surpassing that by more than a million, we set a very high bar for ourselves. If you don’t quite shift three million copies this time around, that is fine. What we can’t afford, is for the third album’s end of year numbers to fall below the 1.5 million the first album achieved. Streaming platforms will be key.”

“What happens if we sell less than that by New Year?” Trent asked.

“Smythe will blame Blaine and me for tricking the label into recording unpopular songs, and he’ll have us by the ball sacks,” Nick said glumly.

“But, why? I’m not trying to be funny or anything, but in this day and age most of our peers are bloody lucky to pass the one million sales mark in a _year_! And even when they do it’s usually streaming numbers that got them there. You’re saying we’re in trouble if we don’t do it in _six weeks_?”

“Yes, because it will give off the impression we’re losing popularity, Trent,” David said, massaging his temples.

This era of their career as a band had barely started and they already looked exhausted by what was to come.

“Other labels won’t think we’re worth stealing away from Canary Records if people are no longer buying our music,” David elaborated. “And don’t forget, when we released the second album, we’d already released two singles from it, so we were in a better position to sell.”

“Well, ‘True Enough For You’ would already be out there if Wes would’ve just let us release it without a featured artist,” Trent continued with passion. “Why the hell are we waiting until Monday to release it? The fans want it. We want it out there. Let’s just leak it.”

“Oh _yeah_ , that’s a terrific idea,” Nick said sarcastically. “Because Smythe won’t guess it was us who leaked it at _all_.”

“Nick’s right,” Jeff agreed from Kurt’s other side. He was unusually solemn. “We have to play by the rules for now and let the label drop the single as planned. But in the meantime, we’re going to have to work our arses off and do everything we can to promote it.”

“Most of the cogs are already in motion.” Kitty took her cue to join Wes at the front of the conference room. “For the rest of this week you’ll be in interviews, either on the phone to international radio stations ahead of the impact date, or talking to journalists and TV presenters here in London before the promo tour starts. We’re announcing the name of the lead single on social media this Friday, so the media embargo will lift just after. And then it’s straight on the tour bus to visit every relevant radio station in the UK before your performance on the X Factor’s results show, a week Sunday. And then we fly overseas. Any questions?”

“Yeah, actually,” Blaine said flatly. “Any publicity stunts we need to know about?”

Kurt reached over and squeezed Blaine’s knee in warning. Kitty didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the question.

“No, Blaine. We don’t have any surprise publicity stunts in the pipeline,” she said coolly.

“That makes a nice change, but you can’t blame a guy for asking,” he said, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest in a deceptively casual way. “You and Wes aren’t usually so forthcoming in that area.”

“Blaine, let it go,” Nick warned.

“Why should I?” Blaine retorted sharply.

“Easy, boys, it’s not like this isn’t the elephant in the room,” Kitty said with a long suffering sigh. “Wes and I made a call that the majority in this room doesn’t agree with. And now Anderson doesn’t trust us.”

Blaine snorted. “Too right, I don’t.”

“As a member of the British public, of course it is his right to speak freely when he’s not happy about something,” Kitty simpered scornfully.

Kurt’s grip on Blaine’s knee tightened, and he shook his head infinitesimally when he looked on the verge of another snide remark. Instead, Blaine slumped back in his seat and aimed a smile at Wes and Kitty that was so saccharine Kurt was surprised their teeth didn’t rot.

“However,” Kitty continued, “as Trent and David have pointed out, you guys haven’t been out there all that much this year. Now some of that is my fault. I’ve taken a long time to settle in as your new PR representative; so the amount of promotion has been limited to festival gigs and a bare bones social media strategy. But that means that every move we make from now must be especially savvy and geared towards getting the word out that you’re back. We need an angle—a selling point, if you will. A reason for you guys to be talked about beyond the music. Unfortunately, our most effective idea has now been stomped on by Tweedlegay and Tweedlegayer over there—”

“Kitty!” Wes hissed.

“—so please, if anyone has a better idea than the romance we were planning on publicizing, by all means, speak up,” Kitty continued, as if she couldn’t hear him. “Because I’ve got to be honest; I don’t care how well this album does. I’ll get paid either way, and there are always other clients. It’s you guys who need this album to sell. So either you let me do my job, or bye, bye, Garglers.”

“Excuse me, Tweedlegayer, here,” Kurt piped up flippantly, raising his hand as if he was back in school. “I assume I get to speak on this, seeing as you’re trying to villainize me for making you work a little harder.”

Blaine’s mouth turned up at the corner a little, and a titter of amusement swept the room.

“Yes. Kurt?” Kitty looked him over with obvious distaste.

“Thank you, very kind,” Kurt began wryly. “First of all, call us the Tweedlegays again, and I’ll push you down the rabbit hole and _bury_ you.”

Kitty rolled her eyes at that, but gestured for him to continue.

“And secondly, why don’t you go ahead and _do_ your job. You know, the one where you try and sell the band’s music, rather than their personal lives?”

There was a murmur of agreement around the table, but Kitty was shaking her head, smirk high on her lips, eyes sharp.

“That’s cute,” she said. “Because the music speaks for itself, right?”

“Shouldn’t it?” Kurt replied, eyebrow raised sceptically. “I know I’m new around here and all, but that’s what they do for a living, isn’t it? Making music. How are people going to stop seeing them as a group of little boys who got lucky on a talent show, if their own team won’t give them any credibility?”

“That _is_ why we hired you,” Jeff agreed. “So we could stop pulling the same kinds of stunts Hunter used to. So far all I’m seeing is much the same, and for what? Blaine and Wes are barely on speaking terms, and it’s making all of us miserable. Why can’t we just focus on selling the music, and be done with it? No mind games and trickery.”

Looking around the room at the five Warblers, all of which were nodding their heads, Kitty sighed and sat back down in her seat.

“Look, I understand what you guys are saying and why you want that,” she said, her voice gentled. “And I can definitely get you to that position—one day. But there’s a process here, guys. Even Miley Cyrus had to change her image gradually so her audience would know to expect a little raunchiness, before she rode a wrecking ball. The band Take That started out as a preteen wet dream, before they evolved into the respected artists they are now. A lot of your fan base are very young, and after two albums filled with one style of music, they’re going to be expecting another serving of the bubble gum prep boy thing. If we focus too much on promoting you as musicians alone, rather than as a group of five different personalities who came together to entertain them, they might not take to the newish sound on this album. Or any music you plan to release later. Promoting your personal lives is a way to help them connect with you and the lyrics in your songs. It reminds them that you’re still the same boys they’ve been fans of all along, even if your music is maturing.”

“That’s why we chose Kurt and Blaine as the main focus during this publicity cycle,” Wes added, eyes trained on his fingers drumming on the table. “Because Blaine wrote “True Enough For You” about Kurt, and we knew the fans would realize that.”

“If we could just continue to imply—” Kitty began.

“No.” Blaine stood up from his chair and started towards the door.

“We’ll run every idea we have by you and Kurt beforehand. No secrecy,” she tried again.

“I said no,” Blaine snarled. “There’s nothing else to go over is there? Because Mike’s expecting us at the dance studio in fifteen minutes.”

Wes pinched his lips together and swallowed hard. “No. No, we’re done here.”

Blaine was out the door before Wes had even finished speaking.

“I’ve tried to resolve this with him,” Wes mumbled to no one in particular.

It struck Kurt, right there as he packed away his satchel, just how young Wes was. Obviously he knew Wes attended Dalton Academy and only had a couple of years on Nick, Jeff, Trent, David, and Blaine, but he carried himself with so much confidence—chin high, and shoulders back—as he battled his way through the music industry, that he’d always seemed so much older than them.

Now though, he seemed exactly as he was; a young man who felt powerless to prevent the loss of one of his closest friends.

“That makes two of us,” Kurt replied. “You doing okay?”

Wes’ eyes fixed on Kurt, wide and unblinking, as if he hadn’t expected a response, least of all from Kurt. “I’ve been better,” he admitted. Wes cleared his throat, and adjusted his tie so it sat perfectly symmetrical between his collars. “Please, uh, email the minutes of the meeting to me sometime this week. No rush.”

Kurt nodded, knowing he was dismissed, and left to catch up with Blaine. He was sitting in the lobby, waiting for the car that would take the band to the dance studio.

Oh crap! It was Kurt’s job to tell the driver they were ready to go. Cursing his own forgetfulness, he shot off a quick text, and sat himself beside Blaine. Kurt needed to stop allowing Blaine’s problems to distract him from doing his job. Luckily, the other boys hadn’t made their way down yet.

“I’m not going to apologize,” Blaine said, breaking the silence.

“I didn’t say you should,” Kurt said.

“I just can’t be in a room with him without wanting to hit him,” Blaine confessed. “And Kitty’s _still_ pushing. After everything, she won’t let it go, and it makes me so…angry.”

“I guess in her eyes, she’s been hired to do a job, and we’re preventing her from doing that.”

Blaine appraised him warily. “Please tell me you weren’t taken in by that crap she said about forcing the fans into an emotional connection to my song?”

“No,” Kurt said quickly. “No, of course not.”

The truth was, though, Kitty had made some valid points. Or at least, ones Kurt hadn’t allowed himself to consider before, too angry about the media campaign set up around his relationship with Blaine without their knowledge or permission. Kurt was starting to wonder if it wasn’t an entirely abominable idea, after all. The boys needed a guarantee they’d reach the top of the charts worldwide. And the media attention on his and Blaine’s relationship _was_ creating more buzz than The Warblers had enjoyed since Kurt joined the team.

Now was not the time to admit any of this to Blaine, though. Not when he was still so emotionally triggered by the topic. And besides, Kurt had no idea how he really felt. He suspected he wouldn’t work it out until he and Blaine had properly sat down and discussed the topic at length.

“By the way, I’ve…um, I’ve talked it over with the boys,” Blaine said, looking down at his hands and fidgeting with his fingers. “And we’ve agreed it would be best if Quinn took over your duties during the promo tour.”

Kurt gaped at Blaine’s profile, hurt. “…You don’t want me there?”

“No, no, I just…” Blaine sat back and pinched between his eyebrows. “With everything that’s been happening, you need to keep a low profile.”

“ _Oh_. I do, _do_ I?” was Kurt’s cynical reply.

Blaine visibly cringed at his tone, though his answering, “Yes,” didn’t waver. “There are going to be fans and nosey media everywhere, and I can’t risk putting you through what happened with the paparazzi outside the restaurant again.”

Blaine looked up and his eyes were wide and unblinking, imploring Kurt to understand. And it probably would have worked on an occasion when Kurt felt more willing to be manipulated by his boyfriend’s unfairly puppy-like gaze, but this was not one of those moments. He was far too tired to feel anything other than betrayed that Blaine had taken it upon himself to decide this _for_ Kurt, instead of _with_ him. Shaking his head angrily, Kurt jumped up.

“Right, I see this conversation about _my_ job did not require my input or presence, so I’m going to spare you it now.”

“Kurt, come on, don’t be like that,” Blaine pleaded.

“Like _what_ , Blaine?” Kurt hissed sharply, and spun to glare down at him. “What am I supposed to do while someone else does the job _I’m_ paid to do? Sit home and crochet a rug?”

“No!” Blaine burst. They were attracting attention from other people in the lobby, and he raised his hands up and lowered his voice. “No, of course not. I already asked Jan and Mercedes. They’re going to take you on full time in wardrobe. You’ll still be travelling with us, just behind the scenes.”

“Tucked away in a corner where the big bad fan girls can’t find me,” Kurt summed up hotly.

“Why are you reacting like this?” Blaine spluttered. “It’s only temporary. I thought you’d agree this was the best thing to do.”

“How would _you_ know if I thought it was the right thing to do? You didn’t even _ask_ me!” Kurt hissed.

Somewhere, buried deep in his mind, Kurt knew he was overreacting. But that’s the thing with anger; it’s too easy for it to overpower any rational thought. And he was far too tired to fight his natural instinct to jump straight into a fight with the person he was mad at. Especially, when the source of anger had already spent a week not discussing much of anything with him, least of all what they needed to work out. Together.

How dare Blaine accuse everyone else of treating him like a child, and then do the exact same thing to Kurt.

“Like you _talked_ to me before you went and confronted Wes about how he treats _me_?” Blaine accused, and Kurt’s jaw dropped.

“You said you understood why I did that!” Kurt spluttered.

“Yeah. I did.” Blaine growled. “Maybe try doing the same.”

Before Kurt could respond, Blaine’s phone trilled with an incoming call. Blaine fished it out of his jeans pocket and checked the screen. “It’s my mum, I have to take this. We’ll talk about this later,” he grumbled.

“I won’t hold my breath,” Kurt muttered.

If Blaine heard him he put on a good show of ignoring it, switching his voice to a higher, more cheerful decibel when his phone reached his ear. “Hey, Mum…”

He disappeared from Kurt’s sight, leaving Kurt to sink back into the seat he’d vacated a minute earlier. Head in his hands, he breathed through his nose and out past his lips—over and over again. The extra oxygen slowed his thudding pulse, if not the screaming argument he was having with an imaginary Blaine in his mind.

“Kurt, the car’s outside,” Trent called out with hesitance.

Peeking past his fingers, Kurt saw that the other four Warblers had reached the lobby at some point during his argument with Blaine. Trent was the only one brave enough to venture close, the other three dawdling by the door warily. How much had they heard?

“Everything all right?” Trent asked.

“It’s nothing any of you would want to talk to me about,” Kurt said, tired and irrational.

“Um…okay.” Trent looked back at the others unsurely. “So, is Blaine ready to go?”

“I don’t know; he’s over there talking to his mom. Why don’t you go ask him,” Kurt snapped.

Trent took a step back, hands held up in a placating gesture that only filled Kurt with a confusing mix of irritation and guilt for how he’d just spoken to him. It wasn’t as if Trent knew why Kurt was pissed. God, why was every one of Kurt’s nerves so on edge?

“Sorry,” Kurt mumbled.

“No worries,” Trent said, still eyeing Kurt apprehensively. “I’ll just…go get him then.”

When Trent had shuffled away, Kurt took a long, cleansing breath, grabbed his satchel and bolted past the other three Warblers out onto the street. Veering away from the car that was waiting to take the band to their choreography rehearsal, he set off down the sidewalk, heeled boots pounding into the pavement to the furious rhythm of his heartbeat. 

Well-meaning, or not—being in love with a thoughtless, pig-headed jerk was beyond exhausting, and Kurt had just about reached his limit.  


	37. Rise of the Ohiwhore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again! A big thank you to AncientGleek for her continued support and careful betaing, even when she doesn't have time. 
> 
> As a quick recap: In the last chapter, Blaine confessed to feeling babied by all and not taken seriously, which made Kurt feel a little out of his depth trying to support him. Tensions between Wes and Blaine were not helped by Kitty trying to push for Klaine to be used as a PR stunt. The itinerary for promoting the next single and album were laid out. And Blaine's revelation that Kurt was to be hidden away in wardrobe and relieved of his regular duties for the foreseeable future, did not go down well with Kurt.

**WarblersOfficial:** Surprise! Our brand new single #TrueEnoughForYou will be available to download and stream worldwide Monday!

 **OhMyBlainers:** They can’t drop music without warning! My heart! I can’t cope!

 **MrsSterling2U:** What?! Now? No! I’m not ready! #TrueEnoughForYou #myboysarebackbitches

 **WarblingSmorbling:** They’re attacking us with a ballad. I repeat they are dropping a ballad! #uglysobbingfromthegrave

 **MrnMrSterlingDuvall:** I’m Niff trash! My babies love is #TrueEnoughForYou!!!

 **Klaine5evabtch:** @MrnMrSterlingDuvall Niff has always been a huge reach! #TrueEnoughForYou has Klaine all over it!

 **MrnMrSterlingDuvall:** @Klaine5evabtch the fuck would you know!? Klaine isn’t confirmed either! Stay in your lane bitch!

 **MyKlainerHeart:** @MrnMrSterlingDuvall @Klaine5evabtch Blaine n Kurt r ACTUALLY gay! Jeff n Nick r both Str8 but go off I guess

 **MrnMrSterlingDuvall:** @MyKlainerHeart @Klaine5evabtch Kurt is a fame whore! Niff hv been 2gether 4eva n their love is TRUE! #NoDoubts

 **MrnMrSterlingDuvall:** Fucking klainers making everything Blaine does about Kurt KURT PICKS UP THEIR TRASH! HES NOTHING!

 **MyKlainerHeart:** @MrnMrSterlingDuvall ur jealous Kurt gets to hang with ur favs GROW UP!

 **NiffForever:** @MrnMrSterlingDuvall FFS STOP! This is why ppl think Niff shippers are problematic! Leave Kurt alone! Jeff and Nick love him!

 **BlaineyDayofNight:** I high key think this song is about Kurt #mybabyinlove #TrueEnoughForYou

* * *

“Dad, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry,” Kurt said for what was possibly the hundredth time in the space of half an hour.

It was an unusually warm Friday afternoon for the month of October. Kurt had settled himself, phone to his ear, on a bench inside a tiny park that ran along an alley between a small red-bricked building and a glass skyscraper. He loved that about London; that he could turn a corner and be surprised by this park or that 500-year-old building, surviving alongside modern refurbishments.

“ _Well, can you blame me for being concerned?_ ” his father responded in his ear. “ _I only saw the comments under one tweet. What else are these punks writing about you?_ ”

“Why did you even go looking for it?” Kurt countered.

“ _I didn’t. I asked Finn to find out your schedule for the next two and a half months, because you haven’t mentioned Thanksgiving—_ ”

“That’s because I don’t know yet!” Kurt exclaimed.

 _“—and he showed me that tweet from the Warblers account. I wish I hadn’t seen the comments but, Kurt, I’m your father. Of course I get concerned when people write crap about you. Like they know what you’ve been through. Like they know your heart_.”

“They’re just kids, Dad,” Kurt dismissed. “Well, most of them. Some are adults.”

“ _Adults who should know better,_ ” Burt growled.

“Yeah, probably,” Kurt acquiesced. “But let’s be real. They’re probably bitter about something in their own lives, and bullying people on the internet makes them feel better. What are they saying that’s got you so worked up?”

“ _Accusing you of using Blaine. Like you’d asked to be mistreated by the paparazzi._ ”

“I figure the language they used was more colorful than that?” Kurt said dryly.

“ _It’s not funny, Kurt._ ”

“Of course it isn’t.” Kurt sighed. “But sometimes I’ve got to laugh, or I’d be letting it get to me. Joking makes it easier to deal with.”

“ _I know you didn’t enter into this relationship lightly, but I can’t help worrying,_ ” Burt confessed. “ _And it doesn’t help that Finn keeps reading articles out loud._ ”

“Then tell him to _stop_! He should know better. You only had a heart attack a few months ago!” Kurt ranted. “Why is he doing that?”

“ _Because we haven’t heard from you_ ,” Burt said patiently. “ _The easiest way to find out what you’re doing now is to look up the band. You didn’t even tell me they’re releasing music next week. Don’t you think I’d wanna know something like that? It is your boyfriend, after all._ ”

“I’m sorry, things have just been a little…complicated,” Kurt hedged.

“ _Complicated, how?_ ”

“Let’s just say, social media is the least of my worries. There’s all this stuff with the label I can’t tell you. And Blaine isn’t talking to Wes because he…something he did. And we’ve been getting everything ready for the promo tour. I’m just distracted with doing my job.”

“ _All I needed was a phone call once or twice a week, Kurt._ ”

“I _know_.” Kurt was losing his patience. “I meant to. But then I’d fall asleep, or Blaine and I would fight, or—”

“ _You guys are fighting?_ ”

“No…I don’t know, Dad.”

“ _It’s complicated?_ ” Burt supplied.

“Yeah. Very,” Kurt said glumly.

“ _What are you doing now?_ ”

“Waiting for two o clock so I can meet my new agent,” Kurt said, looking up at the building where TCC Talent had recently made its home.

“ _Your new—hold up, you’re auditioning again?_ ” Burt asked.

Kurt stiffened. _Crap!_ He really hadn’t been keeping his dad in the loop.

“I—yeah, I’ve been thinking about it, and, yeah…,” Kurt trailed off lamely.

“ _See, this is the kind of thing I’d like to know, but I don’t because you—_ ”

“—I know, I know, I never call!” Kurt snapped. “I’ll do better.”

“ _Good. I don’t want to only see you when something bad happens,_ ” Burt warned.

“Lay it on any thicker and I’ll get stuck in the sidewalk,” Kurt deadpanned.

“ _Alright, smartass, I’ll let it drop. So, a new agent, huh? You gonna audition again?_ ”

Kurt shrugged, even though his dad couldn’t see it. “That’s the plan. I gave up too easily in New York, and London’s got this amazing theatre scene. I figure if it doesn’t work out, at least I tried.”

“ _I’ll be proud of you, no matter what,_ ” Burt said simply. “ _You auditioning isn’t what’s making things complicated with you and Blaine, though, right?_ ”

“No, Dad.” Squeezing his eyes shut, Kurt rubbed his left temple to soothe the dull throb there. He hadn’t even seen Blaine since their argument the day before, and his dad’s incessant mention of his name kept sending fresh waves of anxiety creeping up his spine. “Blaine moved me to wardrobe for the media tour.”

“ _Okay…and this is a problem?_ ” Burt pried. “ _I thought you liked styling? Last we talked you were giving it a real go._ ”

“I do. And I am,” Kurt said. “But he did it behind my back, Dad. The plan was to transition _gradually_ to assistant stylist. He didn’t even ask me first; just demanded I be moved.”

“ _Ah, I see. He had a reason, though—right? He didn’t just wake up one morning and say, ‘Hey, I feel like changing Kurt’s job today.’_ ”

“If you can call it a real reason. He’s being pig-headed and thinks keeping me tucked away will save me from the big bad fan girls.”

“ _…So he’s trying to protect you?_ ”

“In his own stupid way,” Kurt muttered darkly.

“ _I like the kid more and more, every day.”_

“Dad! You’re supposed to be on my side!” Kurt exclaimed.

“ _I am on your side, bud. That means I approve of him keeping you safe.”_

“Oh my god, you guys can’t roll me in bubble wrap!” Kurt said hotly.

“ _No, but I can be grateful your boyfriend knows he could get you in trouble,_ ” Burt pointed out patiently. “ _I have no problem with you dating the kid. But he and I would be having a serious talk if he didn’t think about what he’s exposing you to.”_

“He thinks about it,” Kurt said vaguely. No way was he telling his dad about Wes and Kitty’s plan. “Look, Dad, I’ve got to go, okay? I’ll let you know about the holidays. I know we have time off in December. And I think we’re in the States in November. Things are being added all the time, though, and I don’t know where I’ll be yet.”

“ _Alright, just let me know. And Kurt? Get back into theatre for the right reasons_ ,” Burt warned. _“I don’t want to hear of you pushing into the limelight to spite your boyfriend.”_

Kurt sat up straighter on the bench. “That’s not what I’m doing!” he hissed. “I have a _degree_ in musical theatre! And I worked my _ass_ off to get it, long before I ever met _Blaine_. Why would you—I don’t even _want_ to be in the limelight. Not like this. Why is it so hard for people to believe I just want to earn an honest living as a theatre performer? I would have thought my _dad_ , of all—are you laughing at me?”

Burt’s chuckles grew louder down the line, Kurt’s indignation clearly hilarious to him. “ _Just yanking your chain, son. You’re wound up so tight, I couldn’t resist. I’ve gotta say, that little performance cheered me up._ If you’re _ready to fight me like that, you’re gonna be just fine fending off whatever crap these internet gargoyles are throwing at you.”_

“It’s ‘internet _trolls_ ’, dad,” Kurt groaned fondly, relaxing into his seat again. “I should have known you were messing with me.”

 _“You’re on the other side of the world, bud. I don’t get many opportunities to rile you up,”_ Burt teased. _“Joking aside, though,_ _I know what you’re like—independent to a fault. I want that good honest living for you, too. So start auditioning again for_ YOU _. Not to prove a point to anyone—not to me, not to your boyfriend, and certainly not to his fans. You don’t owe anything to anyone but yourself when it comes to your career. Now, good luck meeting your new agent. You’re gonna make it this time. I can feel it._ ”

Hanging up the phone after a sheepish ‘goodbye’, Kurt checked the time and stuffed it back in his bag. His dad was on the other side of the world, but he still knew him a little _too_ well.

Kurt’s driving force for returning to the audition circuit was a fear of failure. But even he had to admit, there was that niggling desire to irritate the online cyber-bullying mob.

Oh yes, Kurt knew exactly the kind of tweets his dad had seen, because he’d seen his fair share. And while Kurt had developed a very thick skin after years of locker slams and verbal abuse at school, one phrase was being thrown around a lot and had struck him, bone-deep, sending a pulse of fury through his already oversensitive nerves.

 _Fame-whore_.

He’d always known people would assume he was using Blaine. It seemed to be the fate of all lesser-known partners. But knowing it, and seeing the cruel remarks for yourself, are two very different things.

And it hurt. Just like Kurt’s first experience with the paparazzi weeks earlier, one or two snide remarks had affected him far beyond his reckoning. Only, instead of skulking behind cameras this time, his attackers disguised themselves with vague usernames on social media. So he couldn’t even confront them the way he’d prefer.

How can you be a fame-whore, when you’ve never even made a move for the spotlight?

Well, a very petty side of Kurt wanted to do just that and give them something real to complain about. Like scoring the lead in a musical, or an equally fabulous alternative.

So, yes, his dad knew him very well. But he’d set this meeting up weeks ago. Feeling a little tender from his argument with Blaine, the stress of his job, the callous nature of internet trolls, and the pressure of keeping his dad happy from afar, didn’t change that this was already in the works.

It simply made him a little feistier as he walked in to meet this new challenge.

Tina’s office was small, located inside the aforementioned red-bricked building that had probably been lovely once, but had since been dwarfed by the structures erected around it.

“David loaned me the money to rent this space when I started up,” Tina said when Kurt commented on the location. “He wanted to get an office in a better building, but I couldn’t let him waste money on something bigger than I need. The building is listed for demolition in the next five years; so I got it for a steal in comparison to other places.”

Kurt nodded, scanning with a keen critical eye. The space was open plan, save for two rooms cordoned off with wide glass walls and doors; one a meeting room, the other Tina’s office. She led him through and gestured for him to sit on the two seater couch in the corner.

“Is there anything you absolutely will _not_ audition for?” Tina asked, grabbing her laptop from the desk at the back of the office and perching next to Kurt on the couch, her crossed knees turned towards him.

“Porn,” Kurt said bluntly.

“But you’re so pretty,” Tina said with a teasing grin.

Kurt arched an eyebrow at her sardonically.

“I’m just saying, I can see why Blaine likes you. I don’t send my actors to porn auditions; so you can rest easy there,” Tina assured him. She slipped a pair of glasses onto her nose and typed something into the computer balanced on her thigh. “Anything else?”

Kurt thought it over. “I’m not keen on drag. Like, I don’t have a problem with other people participating, but it’s not my thing.”

“No Rocky Horror then.”

“No, thank you.” Kurt took a sip of the coffee the receptionist had brought him. “I got my fill of that show in high school.”

Tina looked at him strangely. “What kind of school puts Rocky Horror on, for minors?”

“McKinley High in Lima, Ohio,” he declared.

“I’m amazed you’re so well adjusted,” Tina admitted, eyes lowering back to the laptop. “Can you ride horses?”

“No.”

“Swim?”

“Yes.”

“Speak more than one language?”

“English and French, fluently. Basic Spanish.”

“Any good at accents?”

“Depends on the accent.”

“I’ll put ‘open to training’.” She typed it in with a neat flourish. “Any sporting skill?”

“I kicked a football once.”

Tina snickered. “You went to drama school. I assume that included stage combat training?”

“Yes. And I’m great with Sai swords, if that counts.”

“Not unless you want a role in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Musical. I’ll say you have skill with weapons,” Tina said, typing it in. “Vocal range?”

“Counter tenor.”

Tina’s answering whistle was low. “Are you free to attend auditions during the week?”

“Usually, yes,” Kurt said, eyes rolling up to think over his schedule. “The radio tour starts next week, though; so I won’t be here as much. You know that through David, right?”

“I do,” Tina confirmed. “And that’s actually perfect, because I can take advantage of your travels to book auditions in other cities. Just send the schedule, and I can work around it. For now though…” Tina clicked and typed something. “There’s an open call for _Chicago_ , tomorrow, replacing three chorus members. How much dance training do you have?”

“I danced at NYADA for four years, and I took ballet as a kid, but I doubt my tango is to _Chicago’s_ standard,” Kurt admitted.

“Don’t sell yourself short. It’s not about being an expert if you can learn on the job,” Tina said, waving off his self-deprecation. She tapped the side of her laptop with her nails, eyeing him shrewdly. “I’m gonna send you along, anyway. It’s good to start with a big audition, because it throws you in at the deep end. And don’t look so terrified. You’ll be great.”

“I’m not terrified. And I don’t,” Kurt said too quickly.

“You are, and you do,” Tina sassed back. “The producers are looking for potential. Show them you can move and pick up choreography, and you have as good a chance as anybody.”

Kurt nodded, heart thumping with nerves.

“On a smaller scale, a chocolate brand is looking to expand their target demographic, and cast a male for their TV ads,” Tina continued. She looked up expectantly.

“What would I be doing?” he asked.

“Eating chocolate, but they’re looking for someone with a quick wit. Not afraid to go off script. The audition is Monday and they shoot Friday. They film their ad variations, back-to-back.”

“Um, okay, I’d like to go, please. The Warblers are visiting the London radio stations first, so we don’t leave the city until Wednesday, and we’re still in the UK until the week after next.”                                                               

“Wonderful!” Tina said brightly. “That’s two already. I need you to read through this contract—very carefully. A little birdy told me you’re not too good at that.” Tina’s smile was conspiratorial.

“Should have figured David was a gossip,” Kurt said dryly.

“Oh, he is. I knew all about the Klaine ‘will they, won’t they’ before you did,” Tina said. “There aren’t any nasty surprises in the contract, but we need to make sure we’re on the same page. You can read it now and sign here, or you can mail or fax it back to me with your headshots. So long as it’s with me by Friday next week.”

Kurt carefully tucked the contract into his messenger bag. “Thank you, Tina.”

“Don’t mention it,” Tina replied, setting her laptop aside and closing the lid. “You seem nice, and I love Blaine. I want him to be happy.”

“I didn’t know you guys were close?” Kurt pried.

“Not so much now,” Tina said sadly. “Blaine went off the deep end for a while, and I felt like I couldn’t be there for him. We go way back, though. Our dads are colleagues; so we met when we were kids. Actually, I had this super embarrassing crush on him. It broke my heart when I realized he was gay.”

“We’ve all been there,” Kurt said amiably, although he felt a little weird now he knew she was once sweet on his man. “I’ve had some unfortunate crushes on straight guys, and one of them became my stepbrother.”

“Yikes.” Tina shuddered on his behalf. “Our dads seemed to always be transferred to the same country, so Blaine and I used to hang out a lot. He’s the one who introduced me to David when I moved here. My dad was then moved to Italy the same time as Blaine’s dad, but my parents had just divorced; so my mom kept her job here, and let me stay at Dalton’s sister school.”

“Did your parents know about David?” Kurt arched an eyebrow in interest.

“No, of course not!” Her answering smile was sly. “They would have made me go home.”

“Sneaky. That’s really sweet that you stayed for him,” Kurt commented.

“David thinks I stayed for Blaine.” Tina rolled her eyes, and Kurt sensed there was an ongoing argument there. “The truth is, I probably should have gone to Italy with Dad, or at least moved back to the States with Mom. But I’d made some real roots here, and…is it crazy that I was a kid, and I just knew David was it?”

“Not if you were sure you belonged,” Kurt replied.

“…You know, you’re the first person I’ve told about my high school romance, who didn’t tell me I was too young to know what I want,” Tina mused.

“Well, who am I to judge?” Kurt scoffed. “I’m a New Yorker at heart, but I’m trying to stay close to _my_ boyfriend.”

Tina’s answering smile was warm. “I’m glad Blaine’s found someone who would do that for him. For what it’s worth, I think Blaine would move anywhere in the world, if it was what you wanted. Even if it meant leaving the band.”

“I don’t want him to do that,” Kurt said sharply.

“I’m not saying you do,” Tina appeased. “But I know dating a guy in a band can be hard. Never in any of my plans did I think my boyfriend would be famous. One minute we were meeting up every day after school and the next he’s gone all the time, and we can’t even hold hands outside, because he has to appear ‘available’.”

“That must have been hard,” Kurt murmured gently.

“It still is,” she admitted. “Way harder than I thought it would be.”

Kurt thought on everything that had happened lately, and dropped his head. “Yeah.”

Tina didn’t ask him to elaborate—even without the specifics, she probably understood how he was feeling better than he did. She’d been through this already.

“It does get easier, in a lot of ways,” she continued. “Parts that used to really bother me, now are just minor irritations. Like, I learned a long time ago to avoid social media because David’s fans _hate me_.”

“Yeah. I’m starting to grasp just how much Blaine’s fans dislike me,” Kurt responded bitterly.

“Not all of them,” Tina said. “But it’ll feel like that sometimes. Most will be happy for you both, but there’s always this loud minority who tend to go straight for your biggest insecurities. Believe me, though, all that criticism is just background noise to the hard stuff.”

“What do you find harder?” Kurt asked warily.

“This part.” Tina gestured to her office. “Having to work five times harder, to validate my career in the eyes of complete strangers. People who compare me to my famous boyfriend and assume everything I have is because of him.”

“Getting people to see you as a success all your own,” Kurt finished for her, heart thundering against his ribcage. She had no idea how timely this turn of conversation was.

Or maybe she did. The corner of her mouth lifted in a wry smile, eyes holding his knowingly.

“Will it get easier?” Kurt asked, not really expecting an answer.

“If you allow it. The comparisons never stop though,” she said anyway. “It’s why I want to be your agent. Just because it’s been hard for me, doesn’t mean it has to be for you.”

* * *

Kurt’s journey back to the hotel was a blur. Living in London for so many months now meant he knew the Tube map by heart and could drift from train to train, entirely lost in thought.

It’s funny how you can walk into a room with set goals in mind, and leave with your outlook in flux. A surge of confidence Kurt hadn’t felt in years had spurred him to begin his journey back into theatre, and he’d allowed the negativity of some Warblers fans to add a little defiant bounce to his step on his way to meet Tina. But now…maybe he’d failed to grasp just how big a challenge this new step in his career would be.

How was he going to earn his own audience and ‘prove people wrong’, if they’ve already written him off?

Tina was right. Whether he and Blaine contained his exposure now or not, the majority of Warblers fans had already made up their mind about Kurt. The comments he’d stumbled across on social media in the last few weeks were proof of that. Not that he sought them out; it was just unavoidable when your job required you to keep an eye on fan commentary.

 _“He’s a stuck up, attention-seeking nobody,”_ one said.

 _“He dresses like a girl. I mean WTAF!!!”_ said another.

And they only grew more personal the further he looked.

_“I’d put out too if all I had going for me was that smug bitch’s ugly af face.”_

_“Let us all praise precious snowflake, Princess Kurt of Ohiwhore, because the glorified trash compactor bends over for your precious Blaine.”_

For all the nice things people wrote about him online, the negative seemed to hold more power in Kurt’s mind. And the commentary had only been growing in ferocity since ‘Pap-Gate’, as the fans now referred to the recent incident with the paparazzi.

Kurt had learned from browsing that, while many of Blaine’s fans thought Blaine had had good reason to defend Kurt that night, a loud minority blamed Kurt for what happened.

No one was ever going to please everyone, though, right? Some minds would never be changed. So, he may as well focus on proving to those who didn’t hate him yet that he deserved a chance to earn their respect.

Because every career move Kurt made now would be measured against _Blaine’s_ success.

Even if they broke up.

Kurt tilted his head back and harshly breathed in the stale air of the underground train. Suffice it to say, the determined man who had walked into Tina’s talent agency had walked out more fearful of the repercussions of his return to performance than ever.

The thing is, Blaine’s notoriety had always concerned Kurt, even back when he couldn’t admit to why he wanted Blaine in his life. But the thought of how complicated things could get had been like a mouse before—afraid of the daylight and scuttling out of sight whenever Kurt lingered on it for too long.

Now it was all he could think about as he clung to an overhead bar to keep upright, surrounded by other harried commuters. And the part of him that had begun to favor the idea of allowing Wes and Kitty to promote their relationship swung straight back the other way.

The only thing he was truly certain of, was that no matter how complicated their interwoven careers became, he did not want to lose Blaine. It was just lucky Blaine had made no attempt at performing in theatre shows yet; so Kurt still had a chance to prove himself in a different section of the entertainment industry.

They could make this work…couldn’t they?

Wrapped up in his thoughts, he very nearly missed his stop, and by the time he had settled against the wall in the hotel elevator and braced for the jolt of momentum up to his floor, Kurt had one hell of a headache, and was unprepared for the sight that greeted him when he shouldered his door open.

“Blaine!” Kurt exclaimed. “What are—you scared the shit out of me!”

Blaine was perched awkwardly on the edge of the double bed, hands flat on the comforter, as if he couldn’t decide whether to jump up or stay seated.

“Sorry. Um...hi?” Blaine said, lips pinched together.

Closing the door behind him, Kurt let his hand rest on the wood a moment, back to the room. He thought he’d have time to prepare what he needed to say. He could feel Blaine watching expectantly, his body tingling all over under the scrutiny of the eyes he loved so much. But he couldn’t bring himself to meet them yet. Instead, he took in what his boyfriend had done to the room.

Room service trays laden with an assortment of cold foods had been placed on top of the dressing table opposite the bed. The main lights weren’t switched on. Instead, the two lamps by Kurt’s bed filled the room with a soft yellow glow, accompanied by a selection of candles Blaine had set up on the window sill and around the outskirts of the floor.

Kurt gestured to some, breaking the thick silence. “Isn’t that a fire hazard? Candles are banned in hotels.”

“I know. They’re battery ones,” Blaine responded softly, picking one up off the bedside table for Kurt to take a closer look at. “See. Totally fire safe.”

“Oh…that was very responsible of you.”

The comment was laced in a sarcasm Kurt hadn’t intended, and he cringed inwardly at the narrow-eyed look Blaine gave him. Great start. Taking his jacket off, Kurt placed it neatly on the back of the armchair by the door, and leaned his hip awkwardly against it.

“How’d you get into my room?” Kurt ventured, this time trying for less bite.

Blaine huffed audibly. “Quinn let me use her spare,” he explained, hunching over to look at his feet, rather than into Kurt’s eyes. “Although I don’t see why you still have a room here. You practically live at my house. A lot of assistants live with their employers; so it’s not like it would look weird.”

“So I _am_ still your assistant, then? Kurt griped. “The line’s getting a little blurred.”

“Kurt…” Blaine jumped up and took a frustrated step towards him.  

“And anyway, I don’t live with you,” Kurt continued, ignoring Blaine’s attempts to respond. “I’m still on the lookout for an apartment. Remember?”

It was a low shot. Kurt knew very well Blaine was looking for a house for the both of them. And Blaine reacted as Kurt expected; he flinched. Undeterred, though, Blaine tried to tug Kurt to the bed with him, only to be thwarted when Kurt took a step back to anchor himself.

 He appraised Blaine with tired eyes. “What are you doing here, Blaine? What’s all this for?”

“What’s all…? I came to make up with you,” Blaine said, voice high like it was obvious. “We fell asleep on an argument. Even though we said we wouldn’t do that anymore. I’m sorry if my being here is a disappointment to you.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Kurt snapped. “I just wasn’t expecting you after…”

After bypassing the talk they needed to have about their biggest problem, and instead changing Kurt’s job without consulting him.

“Well, I didn’t want to let something this stupid fester between us; so…here I am,” Blaine declared lamely.

 _There’s an awful lot festering between us_ , Kurt thought. But what he actually said was,

“At least you admit it was stupid.”

A growl of frustration rumbled from the back of Blaine’s throat, and he dropped Kurt’s hand, spun on his heel and marched to the window on the other side of the room. Kurt flexed his fingers, missing Blaine’s warm palm, despite the resentment simmering under his skin.

“I’m trying to apologize, Kurt,” Blaine protested, grabbing onto the nearby bedpost. “Can you let me do that, please, without throwing it back in my face?”

Kurt deflated. “I—sorry.” He pushed off from the armchair and came to stand by the desk a few paces away from Blaine. “I don’t mean to—I don’t know—say things that way. I just…it’s like a default. Even when I’m trying for pleasant, I end up being sarcastic or cold.”

Blaine nodded, his grip on the post turning his knuckles white. “I got room service,” he said lamely. “I thought you might be hungry after seeing Tina, and I know you don’t sleep well when you’re upset, and you didn’t come back to my place last night, and by the time I realized you weren’t going to, I figured you were already in bed and didn’t want to see me; so I went to bed too, but then I woke up feeling worse this morning because we didn’t text last night or this morning; so I got room service just in case you haven’t eaten, and—”

“—Blaine?”

“Right, sorry, I’m rambling. I can’t even apologize right.”

“No, Blaine, shhh.” Kurt was a small step away now, mouth turned up sweetly at Blaine’s less than eloquent display. He really was besotted with this boy. It was the only explanation for why Kurt could go from hurting him with passive-aggressive jabs to soothing him in the next minute. “Look, I’m not mad. Not really.”

_Liar. You’re in love with him, not immune to feeling hurt._

“I mean, I’m not happy you called me off duty without _talking_ to me,” Kurt amended sharply, and Blaine had the decency to duck his head, cowed. “But I know I overreacted; so…”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine said earnestly. “I thought I was doing what we both would want. You love the work you do with Jan and Mercedes; so I figured you’d like to be moved to wardrobe for the time being.”

“Yes. You’re right. I would love to be a stylist for now,” Kurt acquiesced, linking their fingers together. “But when I’ve _earned_ it, Blaine. I’ve only been working with them when I’m not needed by you guys. That’s not enough time to prove to Jan I’m worth taking on. And even if I had, I wouldn’t leave you guys until I was sure my replacement was up to task. And I certainly wouldn’t dump my workload on Quinn, which is what you’ve arranged to happen at the _busiest_ time of year. And you wonder why she’s so hostile towards you guys.”

“Well, forgive me, but I wasn’t really thinking about her. I’ve been a bit preoccupied trying to make this better for you. Trying to do what _you_ would want,” Blaine exclaimed.

“How could either of us know what you or I want in this situation? We haven’t talked about it,” Kurt said pointedly.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Blaine nodded at the floor as if he thought, by avoiding Kurt’s eyes, he could avoid the conversation. Kurt’s stomach squirmed at the sight, sure Blaine was hiding something from him. He was closing off again.

“Listen, I know that in your head, this plan seemed like a good thing. And in a lot of ways I agree. I’m going to stay out of sight until we’ve worked out what we’re going to do about _us_. But I can’t accept a job title that’s been handed to me. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“But it’s not being handed to you,” Blaine argued. “This has been the plan for months now.”

“No, the plan is for me to transfer to wardrobe in January at the earliest. And only if Jan and Mercedes _want_ me. This is you snapping you’re fingers and demanding it for me right now. For a noble reason,” he added hastily when Blaine opened his mouth to argue. “But…”

How on Earth could Kurt explain this in a way Blaine—who had been successful at the first thing he tried, and had never worked a regular job in his life—would understand?

“People are going to spend the rest of my life assuming every career move I make is because of you,” Kurt said carefully. “That’s inevitable now. But that doesn’t mean it has to be _true_. You deserve better than a boyfriend who greedily snatches up every opportunity you feel like handing over. And I need to be able to look back at my career and be proud that I _earned_ it. _Please_ …tell me you get that.”

Blaine swallowed harshly, his eyes wide and brighter than normal. “Yeah…” he said quietly, and then took a deep breath and said more firmly, “Yeah, I get it. I didn’t even think about all that. I just wanted you safe. I’m sorry.”

“C’mere.” Kurt tugged at Blaine’s sleeve, gasping when Blaine fell into his arms and wrapped his own arms under Kurt’s to grip at his shoulders, nose tucked into Kurt’s neck. He was trembling. Rubbing his right hand circuitously between Blaine’s shoulder blades, Kurt whispered in his ear, “I’m sorry, too, baby. I don’t want to fight.”

“I hate fighting with you,” Blaine murmured back.

Kurt reached to thread his fingers through the hair at Blaine’s neck, holding him like that until he felt the tension in Blaine’s body go lax, and he stopped trembling.

When they pulled back, Kurt held Blaine’s cheeks between his hands and kissed him chastely, a physical sign he knew would reassure Blaine they were okay far better than words.

“So…room service?” Kurt inquired, tilting his head at the trays of food on the desk.

“I just wanted to do something nice for you. Before the schedule gets too crazy, and I’m on camera all the time,” Blaine murmured, leaning their foreheads together. “I figured if this—making up with you—went well, we could turn it into a date. That okay?”

Kurt kissed him again, lingering. “Yeah. Yeah, that actually sounds really nice.”

He allowed Blaine to tug him along this time, Blaine grabbing up a tray filled with an assortment of cheeses, fruit and crackers as they went. Pillows propped up, Blaine set the tray down on Kurt’s usual side of the bed and crawled over to his own, holding his arm out to welcome Kurt to snuggle into his side, which he did, head pressed against Blaine’s chest.

“What are we watching?” Kurt asked, trying to brighten the atmosphere of the last twenty minutes, by nodding at the TV that had been playing on mute the whole time.

“Gogglebox,” Blaine murmured.

“Oh, I hate you for hooking me on this show!” Kurt burst. “We’re just watching people watch TV and comment on it. Why the hell is this so entertaining?”

“Because they say the same shit you do, and you love judging people,” Blaine said with a knowing laugh.

“I do,” Kurt moaned in bliss. “I _so_ do. Judging people on reality shows is my kryptonite.”

“And a little bit in real life too,” Blaine added, squawking when Kurt pinched his side. “Ow! I’m sorry, did I drop a truth bomb on you?”

“Like you’re so innocent!” Kurt accused, pinning down the hand trying to pinch him.

Blaine rolled his eyes, pulled his hand free again and snuggled closer, dropping a fond kiss to the top of Kurt’s head. Kurt hummed his contentment and breathed in deep; the scent of Blaine’s cologne was extra strong the further he burrowed his nose into the crook of his neck. And _god_ had he missed it. His boyfriend was such a brat at times, but he was _so_ worth it. And whether Blaine had purposefully been avoiding him lately or not, Kurt wasn’t going to question this sudden cuddliness. Who knew how long it would last with how changeable Blaine’s moods had been in the last few weeks.

“How’d it go with Tina?” Blaine asked quietly.

Kurt looked up in surprise. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did,” Blaine said, his befuddled frown so pronounced his triangular eyebrows flattened entirely. “We had a fight. That doesn’t mean I forgot. Did you like her? When’s you’re first audition? Can I help run lines? What’s her office like?”

“Okay, one thing at a time!” Kurt said, laughing. “Let’s see: Yes, I like her. I’m going to a _Chicago_ open call tomorrow morning. No lines need running, and her office is nice.”

“That’s great!” Blaine enthused. “I had a feeling you would sign with her. I’m so proud of you.”

“You are?” Kurt asked, eyes wide in hope.

“Fuck, yeah!” Blaine exclaimed. “You’re going to headline a musical, and I can’t wait.” He swept his palm across the room, twinkly eyes focused off into the distance. “Someday soon, you’ll see me—front row, opening night, cheering you on, holding the most obnoxious bouquet of flowers you’ve ever seen. I’m talking gargantuan!” He spread his arms out as much as he could with Kurt lying on one of them.

Chuffing at the image of angry theatre goers trying to see around a giant flower display, Kurt squeezed Blaine around his middle and reached for two grapes, feeding Blaine one and popping the other in his own mouth.

“What if you’re on tour?” Kurt pointed out.

“I’ll fly in from wherever I’ll be,” Blaine said, conclusively. “Even if I have to miss a show to do it. The fans will understand I’ve got my own fangirling to do.”

Kurt laughed and rubbed his palm in a circle over Blaine’s belly. “Don’t do that! They would never forgive me. And I’m not headlining anything yet. I’m not sure how often I’ll even be able to attend auditions, with the schedule not letting up until the holidays.” Lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of Blaine’s chest, he snuggled closer. “By the way, my dad is pissed.”

“About the schedule? Why? We’ve got a month off for Christmas?”

“Because I couldn’t tell him if I’ll be home for Thanksgiving.”

Blaine’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh, shit, I forgot that’s in November.”

“It’s okay, I know it’s only an American holiday,” Kurt said with a long sigh.

“Hey, we always let Mercedes, Puck and Quinn take time off for it, and David usually goes with Tina to visit her extended family. You’ll get to go home, I promise.”

“I will?” Kurt raised his eyebrows, sceptical but so hopeful. “But…Thanksgiving is on the 24th, and the album comes out on Black Friday. How are we going to have time?”

Blaine stiffened, mouth open in surprise. “Fuck!   That does complicate it. The release date is usually earlier. It’s never clashed before.”

“Well, I can see if my family will delay until the weekend. I don’t want to cause a problem for you guys,” Kurt said.

“No, no, don’t be silly, you’re celebrating on the right day. We…we’ll just have to hire some temps or something for that week,” Blaine reassured him softly. “And don’t worry about having time to audition. I’ll make sure you’re able.”

“Oh, really? And how are you gonna do that?”

“Well…there are still parts of your normal job that Quinn’s going to have to take over if we’re going to keep you out of sight for the next few weeks.” Kurt tensed, but Blaine continued speaking, oblivious. “And that means you’ll have some free moments here and there. Besides, Wes is useless since you busted him; so you’ve got leverage to take some liberties. It’s not like he’ll say no if you need to disappear for a few hours.”

“Blaine,” Kurt warned. “I know you’re angry with him, but he’s not useless.”

“Yes, he is.”

Something in Blaine’s tone caught Kurt’s attention. He propped himself up on his elbow and searched Blaine’s face for a clue.

“What’s happened?” he asked sharply.

“Fucking Smythe,” Blaine suddenly burst.

Ah. Settling cross-legged across from Blaine, Kurt touched his fingers to his knee soothingly.

“I assume we’re talking about the elder Smythe?” Kurt queried.

“Well, yeah, Sebastian hasn’t done anything wrong.”

A bubble of anxiety swelled inside Kurt, and he had to roll his eyes up to his skull and count down from ten to stop himself revealing just how jealous he was that Blaine had called Sebastian that night a week ago instead of him.

“There’s a new finalized budget for promoting the album,” Blaine revealed, stabbing moodily at a grape with a cocktail stick.

Kurt blinked in confusion. “But that was done weeks ago.”

“I know. Smythe’s changed it again—just like Sebastian warned me he was thinking of doing,” Blaine growled, and knocked his head back against the headboard. “He’s cut the label funding for promoting this album by more than half. That’s half what we had for our last album, and even less than the first album, when the label wasn’t willing to invest much on an act they didn’t think would take off.”

“Fuck,” Kurt said. “Can Kitty’s company foot some of the bill?”

Blaine shook his head, amber eyes glowering at the ceiling. “That’s not really how it works. They put in a percentage, but when we hired them, it was with the assurance of funding from the label too. We’re paying Kitty to promote _us_ , not the other way around. If New Wilde Promotions puts any more funding into this project, they might not get back their investment with how little the label’s putting in.”

“What are we going to do then?”

“Roll over and play dead?” Blaine deadpanned.

“I’m being serious, Blaine. Kitty has a plan, right? Wes has a plan—”

“Fuck Wes, Kurt!” Blaine hissed. “His plan was to exploit you. His ideas are off the table.”

At any other time, it would have been the perfect ind out why Blaine was avoiding discussing how to rid themselves of the outside interest Wes had inflicted on their relationship, but it was irrelevant to the topic at hand.

“He’s still our manager,” Kurt said. “He must have other ideas. If we just put all our heads together we can find ways of getting the word out there on the cheap.”

“No.” Blaine’s nails dug into his thigh. “I am not having him dictate my life and career. He’s had years to do that, and I’m finally sick of it.”

Kurt took a deep, calming breath. “Blaine. I understand that you’re stressed and upset,” he said as diplomatically as he could muster. “We all are. But now is not the time to cut your leg off because your nose hurts.”

“It’s ‘cut your nose off to spite your face’,” Blaine corrected, with an involuntary chuckle.

“I know. Dad’s said it wrong my whole life,” Kurt murmured with a little shrug. “Look, I’m not saying you have to be best buds right now, but we need to be civil with him. If this album bombs we’ll _all_ be out of a job. We have to be professional and _cooperate_ with Wes.”

“I don’t want to,” Blaine grumbled stubbornly.

“Well, tough shit, that’s life,” Kurt snapped. “Sometimes you have to work with people you don’t like. I had to when I started here.” He looked Blaine up and down pointedly.

Blaine leaned around Kurt to grab a fistful of crackers, stuffed them in his mouth, and glowered at Kurt.

“Don’t give me that look,” Kurt said. “You know why I didn’t like you. We settled our differences, though, right? We found a way to become friends. You can do that with Wes, too. And you’ll prove you’re as grown up as you insist you are. So stop sulking, please.”

“It won’t be for much longer anyway,” Blaine mumbled.

Kurt side-eyed Blaine hesitantly, but chose to log that comment for questioning later. This was a more pressing concern. “Are you guys meeting up to talk about how to promote the album with this budget?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Good. I’m coming,” Kurt said.

“What, you’re planning on being in two places at once?” When Kurt tilted his head quizzically, he elaborated, “ _Chicago_ audition?"

“Oh, crap!” Kurt groaned. “I’ll just have to cancel.”

“Like hell, you are!” Blaine exclaimed. “It’s your first West End audition.”

“It’s just an open call,” Kurt argued. “I wouldn’t get the part, anyway.”

“I don’t care. You’re going, even if I have to take you myself. The Warblers will survive one morning without you,” Blaine insisted.

“But if we get everyone involved, we can figure this out!”

“Not in one meeting, we’re not. Kurt, please…you spend all your time running after us. You can do this one thing for yourself.”

“Not _all_ my time!” Kurt spluttered.

“Kurt, you just assumed we were going to make you work over Thanksgiving. Why would you think that unless band stuff has started dominating your life?”

“I—” he stopped and then, grimacing, continued, “okay, fine. But I want whoever takes the minutes in that meeting to be _very_ thorough so I can read it after,” Kurt said stubbornly, pinching Blaine’s side again when he rolled his eyes. “Be honest. How bad could this be?”

“The promo for the first single was set up with the original budget in mind,” Blaine admitted. “We’ve blown so much on promoting one song that we barely have anything to spend on the album push now.”

“Which must have been Smythe’s plan,” Kurt agreed. “And I bet the awkward release date was also in his plan too, to make your debut less efficient.”

Blaine’s jaw locked as his words hit home. “Why did I ever think he was a good boss?”

“Hey, cheer up. You’re forgetting the tool you guys have, that Jonathan Smythe doesn’t,” Kurt said, crawling into Blaine’s lap. “A force we’ve already galvanized…”

“Fans?” Blaine guessed, looping his arms around Kurt’s waist and tilting his head back to better look him in the eye. “They’re amazing at getting the word out, but I don’t want to take advantage.”

“It’s not taking advantage, when they _want_ to help. Baby, they’re already organizing themselves, and they haven’t even heard the songs yet. And while, yes, they’re terrifying and I wish they weren’t scrutinizing me, they will do _anything_ for you guys,” Kurt said, with a little smile, happy he was breaking through the cloud that had settled over Blaine.

Blaine’s own smile slipped though, and he rubbed his thumb back and forth over Kurt’s right cheek. “They’re not giving you a hard time are they? The attention on you these last few weeks was so sudden. I know it’s been overwhelming.”

Kurt shook his head and kissed Blaine’s palm. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

He hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All 'opinions' expressed in this chapter about shipping groups were made up for the purpose of the story and are not my own. ;)


End file.
